


For unto us a child is born

by ClaireScott



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean being a cutie pie, F/M, Fluff, Forced Pregnancy, Giving Birth, Kidnapping, Kissing, Romance, Smut, and a gentleman, at least talking about it, child birth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaireScott/pseuds/ClaireScott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're the chosen one for a very special mission - starting with your kidnapping, meeting Dean Winchester and getting the shock of your life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Being kidnapped

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language. I apologize for all the mistakes. 
> 
> Title from G. F. Handel, Messiah.

You’ve met this kind man wearing a trench coat in a bar, you’ve chatted a few minutes and you’ve went to the restroom. You didn’t even notice the guy following you – and within the blink of an eye you’re standing on shaky legs in an exclusive looking hotel suite – “Kingdom of heaven” you read on a bill of fare – or whatever this piece of paper is – on the table next to you. No hotel in your town bears this name. Where the fuck are you?  
“What the hell!” You scream, looking horrified to the guy in the trench coat.  
“I’m sorry,” he states, “Dean, this is (Y/N).”  
Dean? You turn around, clapping eyes on a guy in his late 20s, early 30s maybe.  
“Hi,” he greets, giving you a half smile, “Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you.”  
“How did I get here? Where am I? What the fuck is going on?”  
“Exactly this,” your bar pickup explains cryptically.  
“Exactly what?”  
“Intercourse.”  
“Beg your pardon?” You fumble for your cell phone in your pocket – you’re gonna call the police, immediately.  
“This is the right word, isn’t it?” The trench coat guy looks confused whilst your horror reaches new, unknown peaks.  
“This wasn’t helpful, Cas!” Dean hisses and you notice your cell phone is dead.  
“Sorry.”  
You see a two-wing door on your right and take the only chance you have. To your amazement Dean and Cas – if this is his name – do not move, not one step. Three seconds later you know why. The door is locked. Of course. You bang your fists against the wood, screaming for help. Anyone in this fucking hotel has to hear you.  
“Uhm, Dean?” You hear Cas’ voice over your pleading for help.  
“(Y/N)! Stop it! There’s no one behind this door. Let me explain, okay?” Dean shouts and you turn around.  
“I have to go. The phone is connected to Sam’s mobile,” Cas says and vanishes into thin air.  
“What kind of drug he gave me?” You sob, beginning to doubt your own sanity.  
“No drugs. I swear. I’m gonna explain, okay? But I want you to sit and breathe. You’re not going to believe me anyway but I’ll try to sort the things out for you.”  
“I want to go. Now.”  
“Me too. But we both can’t. I’m trapped here, just as you are.”  
“What about the windows?” You ask feeling your fighting spirit growing.  
Carefully, holding a safe distance to Dean, you go to the panorama windows. It’s just glass. No window handle. An outlook on a forest. Shit.  
“Can’t be opened, can’t be smashed. Not here, not in the bathroom or in the bedroom.”  
“How did the guy vanish? Is this a kind of “Saw”-Scenario?”  
Dean chuckles and shakes his head. “Not this worse. But worse enough. Sit down, I’ll tell ya.”  
You take a seat at the dining table, caressing the dark, smooth wood. Dean takes a deep breath.  
“I’m Dean Winchester.”  
“You said this already. And? What now? Should I know you from TV or anything?”  
“No. You could but I’m glad you don’t. Cas – the guy in the trench coat who brought you here – is an angel.”  
“Sure!” You hiss derogatory and roll your eyes.  
Dean gives a shrug as he would have known your reaction. “The thing is ... we’re here for plan B to save the world.”  
“Did you talk with a doctor about your exuberant fantasies?”  
“My brother Sam is working on plan A. To prevent us of plan B.” Dean continues unimpressed.  
“And what is plan B?” You have to ask, just to distract yourself from the panic you feel.  
You’re locked in here with a goddamn psychopath! As Dean doesn’t answer you make a sarcastic suggestion: “They’re going to sacrifice us and some other virgins and 66 little lambs on an altar of insanity?”  
“It’s a little bit too late for virginity, as for me. What about you?”  
“None of your business. Plan B includes what? Could you be so kind and go on, I wanna get outta here very soon!”  
“Uh, we will stay here for weeks. Or months. Unless Sammy finds a good plan A.”  
“What???” You’re screaming again and Dean raises his hands in a calming gesture.  
“Shhh. Breathe.”  
“Okay, okay! Plan B. Go on!”  
“Did you ever see Terminator?”  
“A hundred times. Why?”  
“Uhm,” Dean clears his throat, “You’re Sarah Connor. Somehow. And I’m Reese. Somehow. Uhm ... I have ... I have to knock you up.”  
“What?” Your voice is just a whisper and you can’t believe what this lunatic tells you. Angels, Terminator, getting pregnant by this guy – that’s too much. Way too much. More than you can handle.  
“We’ve got time, okay? That’s why Cas brought you here. We get to know each other, we have a few months.” He breathes deeply before he goes on: “There’s a prophecy. It says, in simple words: If there’s a new savior born into this world you’ll be his mother. Okay? And he or she will be born in 13 months from now on. So, we’ve got time. Time to figure out another plan. And if damn plan A doesn’t work we already know each other for a few weeks and you had enough time to get used to ... to the thought of me fu ... making love to you.”  
“I don’t want to get pregnant. I will never ever be part of this plan. No. Way. Got me? Let me go.”  
“That’s beyond my power, I’m sorry.”  
“Whose idea is this insanity?”  
“Cas’. And my idea was to bring you here right now. Cas and his brothers actually planned to bring you here on the day of your ... uhm ... ovulation. But I refused to rape you, you know? I’m good with plan B, but only if you ... comply.”  
“So you’re kind of a voluntarily prisoner?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Why me? And you?”  
“I don’t know. But I dealt long enough with these angel and demon riff-raff to know that I barely have a choice.”  
“Demon?”  
“Don’t ask. You don’t wanna know. Not yet.”  
“I don’t believe one single word of all this shit. I want to go. Right now.”  
Dean shrugs and points to the door: “It’s locked.”  
You stand up and case the place thoroughly. It’s really impressive. Very luxury. A big living room, a really romantically furnished bedroom with a four-poster bed and a bathroom with whirlpool and knobs on. And it’s still so wrong to be here. But Dean’s right: No way out. All is locked. After being back in the main room you go carefully to the phone and pick the earphone. Dean doesn’t bother to stop you. He sits on the couch and watches you, that’s all.  
“Dean?” A male voice asks, “I’m working on it, but I can’t work if you call me every hour.”  
“My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I’m kidnapped in a hotel named “Kingdom of heaven”. Would you please call the police and send them to ... to ...” You send a horrified look to Dean and he shakes his head.  
“We’re nowhere where the police can find us, (Y/N).”  
“Hi, (Y/N). Sam Winchester here,” the guy on the phone says, “I guess Dean’s right. Believe him, okay? He speaks the truth.”  
“That’s bullshit!” You scream, “Are you completely mad?”  
“No, I’m not. Sorry. I’m working on a solution. I promise. Stay strong.”  
The connection breaks and you burst into tears. You take a seat at the dining table and scream in horror as a complete dinner, including candle light and champagne, appears out of the thin air.  
“Oh, fuck!”  
“Do you believe me now? They feed us four times a day. It’s really good, I’m here since breakfast.”  
“Maybe this is the way they drug you, Dean. Making you believe in this stupid story.”  
“No. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not drugged. Drunk sometimes, but no drugs. Champagne?”  
You shake your head und Dean sighs: “Can I have a beer? I’m not really a fan of sparkling luxury lemonade. As you know for sure, Cas.”  
Out of nothing a bottle of beer appears and Dean nods in approval.  
“There! Thanks.”  
He takes a sip and rubs over his face: “Eat. It’s okay, really.”  
Carefully you smell on the mashed potatoes, the buttery peas and your piece of steak – fantastic.  
“Come on,” Dean says between two mouthful and gestures with his fork, “Enjoy your meal.”  
While you’re eating at least a bit you watch him closely. He seems quite normal, he’s surprisingly relaxed.  
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says a few minutes later, helping himself to a piece of pie for dessert. “You can have the bedroom.”  
“No”, a voice comes out of nowhere, “You both sleep in the bed.”  
“Come on, Cas! We’ve got time, okay? No need to make her feel more uncomfortable than necessary. Give her a few nights to acclimatize.”  
You give Dean a thankful look and he smiles encouragingly.  
“You won’t rape me?” You whisper and he nods: “Never. If you don’t want me in a few weeks, we’ll need a plan C. Or an efficient plan A.”  
“I’m on the pill.” You whisper, somehow eased.  
“Not anymore, I guess. I don’t think you will find your pill in here. That would be highly antagonizing, don’t you think?”  
“Oh shit,” you mumble and Dean shrugs, taking another sip of beer.  
“In two or three days you’ll start bleeding and then ... nature takes it course.”  
“Dean. Seriously, okay?”  
“Sure. Go on.”  
“What do I have to do to get outta here?” You ask, still avoiding begging.  
“Getting pregnant with our baby.” He states, shrugging.  
“Dean, please!”  
“I don’t know another way. If you refuse to get pregnant you can leave after your fertile days in three or four months, I guess.”  
“And if I get pregnant?” You don’t wanna think about it, but ... you wanna know.  
“I guess you’ll stay here until the baby is born. And then ... I have no idea.”  
“What about you? Will you stay here too?”  
“No. After I shoot my load and knocked you up I’m pretty useless. I’ll go back in my life. Maybe I’m allowed to come back to see our baby once in a while. I really don’t know.”  
“What if someone wants to kill the newborn savior?”  
“You’re safe here. And the baby too.”  
“Dean, please. Let me go. Please!”  
Now you’re finally begging. But deep in you you already know it’s useless. Dean comes around the table and hunkers down next to your chair. His big warm hands taking your hands and he whispers comforting, soothing words. He waits patiently until you’re finished, until you have no more tears left.  
“You’re not alone, okay? We’re becoming friends, we’ll talk a lot. Maybe we’re falling in love. It’s okay. No enforcement, no pressure. We’re doing this together. We’ll stay the course. For now we’re an ... an apartment sharing community.”  
“From an apartment sharing community to friends to lovers to parents.”  
“That’s a plan, I guess,” he smiles and for the first time you notice how handsome the father of your baby is.  
Oh, no. There must be something in the food. You can’t be serious!


	2. And the angel said unto them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day in your new life.

After the dinner has vanished – it’s nearly midnight already – you flee in the bathroom, noticing that the door has no lock. Shit.  
“Dean?”  
“Yeah?”  
“The door can’t be locked.”  
“I’m not coming in. Promise.”  
You take a seat on the toilet, staring at the wall, thinking about your options. You don’t think you have one. You assume that they – whoever they really are – will force you to get what they want. It’s easy. One or two Roofies in your drink every evening and one day you wake up pregnant. You don’t trust Dean, even if you’re trying to. You think about the magical appearance of your dinner, searching for a rational explanation. But you don’t find one. It’s all so confusing and disturbing. You stand up and open the bathroom cabinets. Towels, shower gel, shampoos, conditioner, body lotion, razors, shaving foam. For you and for Dean. Two toothbrushes and toothpaste on the board at the sink, a box of tampons in a closet under the sink. Everything is brand-new and pure luxury. You brush your teeth, thinking about the upcoming night – as you’re getting aware you only have the clothes you wear. Shit. With your toothbrush in your mouth you open the door. Dean’s sitting on the couch and apparently watching TV. He looks over his shoulder, giving you a questioning look.  
“Uhm. Are there any clothes?” You mumble past the toothbrush and Dean points to the bedroom door.  
“Two wardrobes full of clothes. I checked it earlier. Cas, unworldly dork he is, filled the wardrobes with everything we might need in here. Including a tuxedo for me and an evening gown for you.” Dean chuckles and shakes his head.  
“An evening gown?”  
“Yeah. Turquoise. Silk, I guess. But I’m no expert in these things.”  
“Did he bring PJs?”  
“Sure. You can have mine too, I sleep in boxer shorts. Normally. I don’t do PJs.”  
“I don’t think your PJs fit me, Dean. But thanks for the offer.”  
“No prob.” He smiles and directs his attention back on TV – just as you were a normal couple, living together for months. It’s all relaxed and casual.  
Back in the bathroom you finish brushing your teeth, heading to the bedroom afterwards. You take a look in the wardrobes, marveling the exclusive variety of clothes, underwear, PJs, and in fact a turquoise silk evening gown by Elie Saab. Wow.  
“That’s not “Saw” or “Terminator,” you mumble for yourself, “That’s more like “Pretty Woman” so far.”  
You change in a blue pajama and wince as your worn clothes vanish into thin air. A knock on the door interrupts your disbelieving stare on the point your clothes laid seconds before.  
“May I come in?” Dean asks as he gets no answer.  
“What do you want?”  
“Uhm, a pillow and a blanket would be fine.”  
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I ...”  
“It’s okay.”  
The door opens slowly and Dean enters the bedroom – fully clothed, thank goodness! You step back with every step he comes nearer. He moves deliberately, slow, showing you both hands in a defensive gesture.  
“No need to be afraid. I’ll take the pillow and the blanket and go. Okay? Everything’s fine. We’re good.”  
You’ve reached the wall feeling uncomfortable and frightened. He grabs one of the pillows and a blanket and moves backwards to the door.  
“Good night. Try to get some sleep. I won’t come in, I promise.”  
“Good night,” you answer, knowing you won’t sleep any second. 

After hours of circular thinking the sleep catches you in the early morning. You wake up by a soft knock at the bedroom door.  
“It’s 10 a. m. Do you want breakfast?” Dean asks through the closed door.  
In the second you hear his voice all the horror is back. But – one point for Dean – he kept his word: He didn’t come in.  
“Oh. Yeah, I’m ... give me a few minutes, okay?”  
“No need to hurry. We have all the time in the world, (Y/N).”  
Rubbing your eyes and stumbling to the wardrobe your circular thinking starts again. You choose grey sweatpants and a blue T-Shirt, black underwear and black socks and head to the bathroom.  
Dean’s already sitting at the dining table, reading a newspaper and sipping on a cup of coffee.  
“G’Morning, sleepy head”, he smiles and you mumble something impolite.  
All relaxed and casual. Again.  
After a shower, brushing your teeth and being clothed you’re in better temper. You take a seat and help yourself to some coffee. The breakfast is as luxury as everything else in here. Dean eats pancakes; you choose a croissant because you think it’s quite difficult to get drugs in a croissant. Total nonsense, but that’s what’s in your thoughts.  
“Orange juice?” Dean asks, lifting the carafe, and you shake your head.  
“What do you think about getting to know me better? I’ll tell you something about my life. What I’ve been through. Wherefrom I know Cas, all these things. And then it’s your turn.”  
You nod, taking your cup of coffee and lean back.  
An hour later your head is buzzing and you barely notice that the breakfast vanish like the dinner the evening before. It’s replaced by lunch and Dean interrupts himself: “Cas, stop it. We can’t eat all day. We finished breakfast five minutes ago.” He points at the table and asks: “Or do you want to have lunch now?”  
“No, thanks.”  
You can’t eat. You have to think about hell, demons, apocalypse, souls, Lucifer, vessels – you don’t get it.  
Out of nothing Cas stands in front of the table and you flinch as he points on you: “She doesn’t eat properly, Dean.”  
“Give her a few days. She’s a human. She needs time.”  
“You are a human too, Dean.”  
“Yeah. But I’ve grown up with all these shit.”  
“I can’t believe what ... what you told me. Not one single word. And ...”  
“Yes?” Dean and the so-called-angel are looking at you and Cas’ intense blue eyes, his stare makes you shiver.  
“I’m no virgin.”  
“We know. Dean isn’t the Holy Ghost. He’s not even a modest and respectable man like Joseph.”  
“Hey!” Dean gives Cas an evil eye and shakes his head in disapproval. “Changed your charters, Cas? From virgin birth and Holy Ghosts to best possible DNA and great sex?”  
“There is just one Holy Ghost. And that’s nothing I’m supposed to talk about.”  
“As ever. Tell me something new.” Dean rolls his eyes and takes a look out of the window. “This damn forest is depressing. I want another view.”  
Cas waves his right hand and your eyes getting big. The forest is gone and you see a stone wall and a tower, a lot of tourists.  
“What’s that?” Dean asks and Cas shrugs: “Bethlehem.”  
“Not this obvious, please.”  
A snap and you see a crowded street, somewhere in Asia you guess. Thousands of people on motorbikes or with oxcarts on the street, poverty and misery all around.  
“No. Depressing like the forest.” Dean states and Cas nods. “Do you have something nicer?”  
“Like what?”  
“Maldives? Times Square? Vegas? Frisco?”  
One more snap and you see the Eiffel Tower.  
“City of love. And a phallus. I like that.” Cas says and Dean sighs, apparently giving up. Or maybe he’s good with Paris.  
“Mr. Cas, please, can we talk like grownups?”  
“It’s Cas. I always talk like a grownup because my vessel is one.”  
“Oh ... uhm ...”  
“Just go on. He’ll listen and answer”, Dean encourages you and you clear your throat: “Please, I really don’t want to get pregnant, so please, let me go. I’m very, very honored by your plans but ... that’s not what I want.”  
“Your child could save the world, (Y/N). How can you even think of refusing our plea?”  
“I’m a normal woman, I’m no Sarah Connor.”  
“Who’s Sarah Connor?” Cas asks Dean and frowns. The confusion in his voice makes you nearly laugh. Nearly.  
“No one you’ve met so far. Not important.”  
Cas furrows his brows and shakes his head: “So, as we don’t know for sure plan A will work properly and we have no other good ideas you just have to give birth to this child. I’m not going to accept your refuse. Maybe later, when you’ve had more time to think about it. In any case: You have to stay here for at least six months, just to prevent Crowley from kidnapping or killing you.” Cas explains deadly serious.  
“Crowley. The king of hell.” You state and shake your head.  
“Yes.” Cas nods and gives you a small smile.  
Both men seem to share these horrible fantasies. But ... the story Dean told you seemed logic, even in details. Plus: You’ve got this man standing here who’s able to appear out of nothing and vanish into thin air. Plus: You have Hogwarts-Style-Meal-Delivery. And all the other confusing things.  
“What will happen when I agree?”  
“Dean will take you repeatedly a few days in a row to make sure you’re getting pregnant. I’ll come to check if you were successful.”  
“I won’t simply take her, Cas. We talked about this.” Dean hisses and gives you an apologizing look.  
“Whatever you may call it or however you do it, Dean, isn’t of any interest. The main thing is to make sure you two create new life.”  
“And what if we are successful?” You ask, biting your lip.  
“I’ll take Dean back to Sam. They go on with hunting. You stay here until the baby is born. We can change the location in a big house with pool, nursing room – whatever you need.”  
“How long do I have to stay here?”  
“Hm. 15 to 20 years, I guess.”  
“What???” You leap to your feet, “No way. Never.”  
“You can’t keep her here like a budgerigar in a gilded cage. She needs to go out, to have friends and other moms to talk to. Maybe she wants to work for a living.” Dean says impatiently, like he has explained that a thousand times before.  
“Negative. This is too dangerous.”  
“You speak like a Terminator.”  
“A what?”  
“Forget it, (Y/N), he didn’t watch the movies.” Dean sighs and gives you a caring look: “I would say no. And I fully understand when you refuse.”  
“That’s what I say the whole time. No, no, no! But he still won’t let me go!”  
“Maybe you can go back after one year. When he or she needs no more breastfeeding. But you have to leave your child here with us.” Cas shrugs and shoves his hands in the pockets of his trench coat.  
“No.” Dean says. “No way. We need another solution. A child needs a mother, believe me. A father might be optional although it’s no mistake to have one.”  
“Dean. Think rational. You can’t be awake 24 hours a day, 20 years in a row. They need protection, more than you can give.”  
“We’ll see, I suppose.”  
“We’ll see nothing. I said no and I won’t change my mind.” You scream, feeling the tears burning in your eyes.  
“Okay, then ... see you in six months.”  
Cas vanishes again and leaves you devastated. Why didn’t he take Dean with him?  
“Dean ...”  
“Yeah. I’m here. Breathe. I know, it’s all fucked up but we get through it.”  
A few minutes all is silent, and then Dean clears his throat: “So. What about your life? What’ve you been through?”  
“I ... I can’t talk right now.” You sit down again, hiding your face in your hands.  
“Okay. Take the time you need. Wanna watch TV?”  
You shake your head, remaining in silence. Dean leans back in his chair, watching the tourists around the Eiffel Tower. 

“I have no choice, do I?” You ask after nearly half an hour.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I can say no a thousand times, that doesn’t matter. They have the power to force me. To force you.”  
“Yeah, that’s right, I guess.”  
“So, when I say no Cas will come at the ... the right day and forces you to rape me, right?”  
“No. Not this way. Cas is my friend, he won’t make me do this. But ...”  
“Yeah? Go on. I want to know what to expect.”  
“I guess he or one of his brothers or sisters can make you fall deeply in love with me. Making you crave my touch, making you beg for me to love you, making you beg for having my baby. And vice versa, of course.”  
“Oh, god ...,” you whisper, horrified, crossing your arms in front of your chest.  
“It’s not by choice, I know, but at least you will enjoy it. I’ll make it good for you.”  
“What a fucking cold comfort!” You hiss, wiping the tears out of your eyes.  
“You can still say yes and maybe we fall in love without force or pressure. We have time. In the end, I guess, you’ll be pregnant with our baby. Unless Sam finds another good solution. The journey to day X is our choice. What will happen on day X maybe not. We can make a baby voluntarily or forced voluntarily.”  
“Which day is day X?”  
“Dunno. Depends on your ovulation, right?”  
“Are you ... uhm ... safe and sound?”  
“Yeah, I am. I guess you too, otherwise Cas cured you.”  
“Hmpf.” What else you should say?  
“We’ll go slowly. We have around ten weeks until day X, maybe more. Enough time to fall in love without angelic powers.”  
“Do you really wanna fall in love?”  
Dean takes a deep breath and states: “Yes. I want. At least I give it a try.”  
“Why?”  
“Not that I ever really had a chance on a normal family but ... I always hoped not to become a father by accident, the one time I did was a horror trip. I always wished to be in love with the mother of my child, to father my child in love. That’s creepy romantic bullshit, I know, and normally not my field, but ... yeah. That’s what I dreamed about.” He smiles apologizing, like he’s ashamed for his wishes.  
“You already have a child?” You ask and Dean shakes his head: “It was more a monster than a child and her first challenge in life was: Kill your father, honey.”  
“Oh, my god! What happened?”  
Dean chuckles and tells you about the amazons and their children. After a lot more weird and sometimes funny stories the lights at the Eiffel Tower start shining and a dinner appears out of nowhere.  
“Rotolo di Vitello,“ Dean reads on a card and shakes his head. “What the fuck is this? Come on, Cas. What about something less aloof?”  
“Pizza?” A voice asks and Dean gives you a questioning look.  
“I’m good with pizza.” You shrug and help yourself to a glass of water.  
“Pizza sounds perfect, thank you.”  
The dinner disappears and is replaced by two pizza boxes and two bottles of beer.  
“Here we go,” Dean grins and points to the couch. “Wanna eat on the couch and watch TV? Maybe we can re-watch Terminator.”  
“Uh, no. No Terminator for me,” you smile. “Maybe we find another movie we both like. Maybe we find a channel airing the shark week.”  
You have no idea where this came from – you have never ever watched shark week or were at least interested in. But the smile on Dean’s face lights up the whole room. He loves shark week, even a blind man could see this.  
“The shark week?”  
“Yeah. Why not?”  
“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” He laughs and his laugh lines crinkle – damn he’s fucking attractive.  
“Wrong movie, pal. Shark week would be more “Fish are friends. Not food”.” You laugh for the first time, grab a pizza box and take a seat on the couch.  
Maybe you can forget your desperate situation for a few hours. You’re willing to try.


	3. The win-win-situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the first week the flirting finally starts! Yay!

On the 7th day you wake up to the muffled sounds of two arguing men, apparently Dean and Cas. As silently as possible you get up, tiptoeing to the bedroom door. Your ear pressed at the smooth wood you’re biting your lip in concentration.  
“Stop manipulating us, Cas!”, Dean says, anger and impatience in his voice.  
“I do not ...”  
“Zip it! Shark week, remember? She’d never watched shark week before and generates from one second to another the urge to watch it with me. Do you think I’m one beer short of a six-pack? Stop these fucking candle light dinners, the goddamn Eiffel Tower and this whole bullshit package you give us every day. I can do it by myself, I don’t need assistance or a push to fall in love.”  
“But we have to make sure that ...”  
“I know. She knows.”  
“Dean, it’s a week now and you still sleep on the couch.”  
“Yeah. So what? We still have nine weeks left.”  
“I’ll stop helping along when you finally sleep next to her.”  
“No.”  
“It’s my final word, Dean. Do you need anything else? Or did you just call me to have a go on me?”  
“I want another room. With a pool table and darts. I need occupation. At least I could practice pool and darts if I have to stay here for weeks.”  
“You’ll sleep in her bed tonight and get another room with pool table and darts tomorrow in the morning.”  
“Cas, stop blackmailing me!”  
It’s silent for a few seconds and you imagine Dean and Cas in an intensive, epic staring match. But you’re wrong as Dean’s next words reveal.  
“Cas? Cas! Come back, son of a bitch!”  
You go back to your bed, taking a seat on the edge and thinking about Cas’ manipulations. You’d noticed that you sometimes say things beyond your interests or experiences. You want him to stop this – and you can stop him by letting Dean sleep next to you. It’s unavoidable anyway, so you can start now just as well.  
The soft knock at the door and Dean’s deep voice make you stop your useless thinking about what will happen when he’s lying next to you. Or what not.  
“Time for breakfast, sleepy head”, he calls, no hint of anger or impatience in his voice.  
“Thank you, Dean,” you answer and grab your clothes to go in the bathroom.  
At the door you stop, turning around and looking at the empty side of the bed. Not empty anymore, from tonight on. 

“Dean?” You ask in the evening as he stifles a yawn.  
“Yeah?”  
He didn’t say a word about his conversation with Cas, about the new room he demanded, about Cas’ blackmailing. He didn’t make pressure. You’re thankful and you decided he needs a reward for his perfect gentleman like behavior.  
“When I was a teen I slept over the weekends at the house of my grandparents. On a couch. It wasn’t very comfortable.”  
“Uh-huh?”  
“I asked myself if this is a very comfortable couch or is it a torture sleeping on it?”  
“No torture, (Y/N), I’ve been cruelly tortured and this couch is a Sunday afternoon walk in the park in contrast to real torture. It’s not really comfy, but it’s okay. The motel beds I’m used to aren’t much better normally. Why are you asking?”  
“Uh, I’m thinking about offering you the empty side of the bed.”  
Dean gives you a thoughtful look and asks: “Is it a somehow strange feeling asking me this? Similar to the feeling you had talking about my car? Or the shark week?”  
“No, it isn’t.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Yes, I am. No sex, no touching, just sleeping in the same bed. Is this okay for you, Dean?”  
“Of course it is. Thank you, (Y/N).” His smile is as broad as it is bright and you feel a little bit happy. And very, very excited. 

An hour later you’re lying in the bed, waiting for Dean to come in. The door to the bedroom opens and Dean steps in, wearing boxer shorts and, presumably owed to the circumstances, a T-Shirt.  
“You sure?” He asks again and you nod.  
Dean throws his pillow and his blanket on the empty bedside and comes nearer.  
“I won’t touch you unless you ask me to,” he whispers, barely in bed.  
“Okay. Thank you, Dean.”  
“If you’re not comfortable ...”  
“I am, Dean. Really. It’s okay. It’s maybe the best way to get used to you and your presence.”  
He chuckles and you hear him stretching.  
“Wow,” he whispers, “This is a really cozily bed. No wonder that you’re not in the mood to get up for breakfast every morning.”  
“Shut up, Winchester, let me get some sleep.”  
“You’re posh like hell, honey.”  
Kicking him softly at his knee with your foot makes him laughing out loud.  
“Nice try, sweetie. If you’ve searched my balls: Try half a meter northwards.”  
“I haven’t. Not yet.”  
You hear him sitting up already feeling his intensive gaze in your back.  
“Not yet?”  
“Good night, Dean.”  
“G’night, honey.” The tenderness in his voice gives you goose bumps, makes you shiver.  
Not for the first time in the last few days you think about how sex with Dean Winchester would be. Will be. It’s still unavoidable. Not later than in nine weeks you will know. Will you be able to feel the moment you’re successful? Will you know you’re pregnant in the moment it happens? Or will it be a kind of non-stop unmotivated fucking just to fulfill the expectations? This is such are horrible thought you roundly disclaim it in the moment it comes to your mind. No. Dean promised to make it good for you. He’s a man who’s true to his words.  
After a few seconds Dean lies back, falling asleep within minutes. As you hear his steady breathing you’re able to relax and find some rest for yourself. 

 

On your way to the bathroom at the next morning you notice a new door next to the two-wing door. You smile – it’s the promised room with pool table and darts. It feels good to know that Cas is also a man who’s true to his words. On the other side this means you’re not getting outta here soon.  
Dean sleeps longer than the days before and looks incredibly gorgeous stumbling out of the bedroom.  
“G’morning sleepy head”, you smile, pointing at the new door. “There’s a pool table, a pinball machine and darts. I guess this one’s for you.”  
“Guess so too. Awesome. Thanks, Cas. Did you sleep well?”  
“Yes, thank you. What about you? Did you enjoy the most comfy bed in the kingdom of heaven?”  
“Very much. I slept like a baby. Do you play pool?”  
“I tried a few times but I suck, I fear.”  
“In eight weeks you’ll play “royal league”, I promise.”  
“Wanna teach me pool?”  
“Not only pool, honey.” He winks and heads to the bathroom.  
Breathing deeply you try to control the butterflies in your belly but you’re failing impressively.  
Two hours later you’re standing at the pool table, listening to Dean’s explanations about how to screw your takers. And then he starts with the basics. How to hold the queue correctly. How to hit the billiard ball in the best possible way. He stands right behind you, helping you to manage the thrust. His hand is on yours, big and warm, and you feel his breath at your ear. He smells fantastic and it feels incredibly good to be so close to him.  
“You’re a natural,” he states in the late afternoon. “Wanna play a match after dinner?”  
“Challenge accepted,” you laugh, pocketing your next billiard ball. 

After this afternoon full of laughter and bantering you enjoy your dinner with Dean more than the days before. It’s really fun and you’re thankful for his idea with the pool table. You refuse to drink a beer – you want to play as good as you can and you do. You look like the cat who ate the canary as you’re winning the first match – until you see Dean’s facial expression. He played a horrible match – and you remember his first lecture.  
“You’ve lost on purpose!” You laugh and he just shrugs, smiling.  
“I drank too much I guess. But I want a revenge,” he challenges you and you know that’s how he earns his money.  
The next game he’s going to play a bit better, but he’ll lose. The third game, with high bets, he’s going to win. He’ll play brilliantly and collect a lot of money.  
“Okay. What are the bets?”  
“If I win we’ll cuddle on the couch.”  
“What kind of cuddling?” You ask, raising your brows.  
“Uh, you lay your head on my thigh and I’m allowed to play with your hair.”  
“Okay. And if I win?”  
“Dunno. What do you want, (Y/N)?”  
“Maybe ... “ You think a second about a fair reward, about what you want to do: “A hug.”  
“I can live with that.” He smiles and prepares the table for a new game.  
Needless to say you win the second match – you know what he’s up to. Anyway: You enjoy the hug he gives you more than anything during the last week and notice he lets you go first.  
“Revenge?”  
“Yes. Bets?” You ask, smiling.  
“If I win ... a kiss.”  
“I want one more hug – if I win.”  
“Okay. Loser starts.”  
You nod, mentally preparing for the kiss you owe him in at least half an hour. And of course you’re right. You have no chances.  
“Come here,” he smiles, throwing his queue on the table. “I’m the lucky winner, I’m going to be kissed.”  
You breathe deeply, stepping nearer, placing your hands on his chest as you reach him. He covers your hands with his, smiling.  
“Just a short kiss. Okay?”  
“If it wouldn’t be okay, I wouldn’t have played.”  
“You played very well.”  
“You’re a terrible liar, Dean,” you whisper and he chuckles.  
“Maybe. But I’m also a great kisser.”  
His lips touching yours and you close your eyes, enjoying the fireworks in every cell of your body. His kiss is soft and warm, nearly innocent. Nearly. But you can feel the desire he’s trying to hide. He withdraws from you and your hand grabs his neck, pulling him back, nearer to you. You kiss him back, as innocent as he kissed you.  
“Revenge?” He whispers and you nod, petting his neck. “I want another kiss.”  
You smile and answer: “Cuddling on the couch.”  
“That’s what I call a win-win-situation.”  
“Hm-hm.”  
“Maybe we could quit the match and come to an agreement about a stand-off ...”  
“Grab your queue and stop talking, Winchester. I have a match to win.”  
He laughs and steps back: “As you wish, Milady.”


	4. A Good Night Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first real kiss.

At the end of week 2 you’re in a continuous state of flirting. You still practice pool, darts and sometimes poker with Dean. The sexual tension, the attraction grows from day to day. He still plays for innocent kisses and just won a good night kiss in bed, the first time he makes this bet.  
“Come on, time for some cuddling on the couch. I still have a thing for your hair,” Dean smiles and you nod.  
You feel – despite all the flirting and the superficial pleasant atmosphere between you and Dean – the burden of the prophecy.  
“What’s up, (Y/N)?” Dean asks a few minutes later, twisting your hair around the fingers of his right hand. “You’re so quiet.”  
You take a deep breath: “The days are trickling away and I’m afraid of what will happen on day X. And after day X. I’m afraid what ... what heaven has in store for my ... for our child. What if he or she is born ... to continue to fight your battles and dies young and unhappy?”  
“I talked to Sam in the morning while you were still sleeping. He has a good idea for plan A and he’s positive it could work the way we want. Plus: He sent the prophecy to ... to another prophet. To get a second opinion, you know?”  
“Why?”  
“Uhm, these prophecies are quite cryptic and leave always a little room for interpretation. Maybe the guy who read it first overlooked something – it’s a difficult thing to decipher this detached writings in a dead language. Maybe the second reader finds anything that can help us.”  
“Did I get this right: Cas isn’t able to read the prophecies?”  
“Right. Only prophets can read prophecies.”  
“So, maybe we will know more tomorrow?”  
“Tomorrow? No. It takes weeks to read a prophecy. At least we should give him three weeks. Maybe he needs even four or five.”  
Dean starts massaging your neck and you feel you’re relaxing; you can’t fight his tender and skilled fingers.  
“I still hope we don’t have to do this. But if ... I’m going to protect you both as good as I can. And happiness? I don’t know if there are truly happy hunters out there – I haven’t met one so far. I want to be honest, (Y/N), okay?”  
“Yeah, of course.”  
“Hunters are never kids, I, for one, never was.”  
“That sounds terribly sad and lonely.”  
“It’s a life on the road, peeps come and go, much training, no friends. It’s lonely, sad and fucking melancholic sometimes. But as a grown up with the right partner at your side it’s okay.”  
“No need for a safe harbor?”  
“We have one.”  
“The bunker?”  
“Yes. It’s kind of a home.”  
You nod and imagine how many tears you would cry to say good bye to people you learned to like, just to find another bunch of likable residents you have to leave again. You think about what a horrible life for a kid this must be and you hope even more than ever that plan A will work. You don’t want to think about it anymore you have to change the topic before you start crying. But the topic you choose isn’t much better – but you feel the urge to talk about. Maybe Dean’s able to comfort you a bit.  
“I wonder what to tell my family. I’m lost for over a year and suddenly come back. Why? This isn’t anything that fits my personality. Or I’m lost for 15 to 20 years. The day I’m going to get outta here my parents are maybe already dead. My family and friends lived decades without me, not knowing what had happened to me. I guess, they’re already searching for me.”  
You cry silently, feeling the desperate urge to talk to your parents, tell them that you’re okay. Held hostage, but okay.  
“Don’t think about the kidnapping thing. Replace kidnapping with honeymoon.”  
“You’re kidding me, don’t you?” You laugh a cheerless little laugh and shake your head.  
“We’ve met in Vegas at a pool table. Spent the night together, drinking, playing, having fun. We’ve made an appointment – not a date – for the following night and in the morning we were married and fucking rich. We decided to spend an eight weeks long honeymoon here at the Bellagio.”  
“What a terrible waste of money. Eight weeks in a suite at the Bellagio – Dean, we should’ve bought a house”, you say, looking up in his face.  
He laughs and stops from one second to another: “Cas, goddamn peeper! Leave us alone!”  
“What’s the matter?” You ask frowning.  
“Take a look out of the window,” Dean answers and you lift your head.  
“Is that the fountain in front of the Bellagio?” You ask und Dean nods. “Is this the honeymoon you dream of? A suite at the Bellagio?”  
“No. I’m not a luxury guy. I’m good with every motel or vacation home having a passably acceptable bed. I would spend my honeymoon in a tent if necessary.”  
“Honeymoon in a tent?”  
“Yeah. Honeymoon is about making love, so all you need is at least some privacy, right?”  
“Dunno,” you shrug, biting your lip, closing your eyes again.  
The fountain will still be there in a few hours. You lean into his touch, relaxing again.  
“Don’t you think if you’re not able to stand a month alone with your husband you could also sign the divorce papers?”  
“Your idea of honeymoon is spending four weeks completely alone with your wife in a tent?”  
“Or in a suite at the Bellagio. At a vacation home in the woods of North Dakota. Whatever she wants. But alone with her, yeah.”  
“That’s kind of romantic and really cute.”  
“Thank you. I guess if your partner is the real love, your one true mate you would never want to leave your honeymoon. Then you’re thankful for every minute alone time with him or her.”  
“Hidden very deep in this hunter there’s a romantic gentleman, right?”  
“Yeah, maybe. Do you like him?”  
“Very much, to be honest. I want to see more of him.”  
“Okay. But don’t betray me, okay?”  
“We’ve got a deal.”  
“Do you know how deals are sealed in my ... uhm ... workplace?”  
“With a kiss, right? You told me about the crossroad demons.”  
“With a kiss, yeah. Come here, honeymoon girl.”  
You turn on your back, and he leans over you. His right hand pets your hip, your thigh, down to your knee. He holds you close and you feel he’s smiling as his lips touching yours.  
“What’s so funny?” You whisper against his lips, bringing your hand to his cheek, petting over the stubble.  
“Nothing. Enjoying my honeymoon, that’s all.”  
“In this freaky honeymoon live action role-playing game we’re in or ...”  
“In general. I’m enjoying your company. Do you think you could stop talking and kissing me – when all is said and done?”  
“As you wish, Milord,” you smile and kiss him tenderly. “Is one kiss enough to seal the deal?”  
“I guess. But it would not be amiss to kiss once more. Just to be sure.”  
After one more long and still innocent but very promising kiss he lets you go. Your lips prickling and you feel you’re craving for more. He’s got you where he wants you to be – but he still goes slowly. You feel that you’re ready to fall in love with your fellow inmate. 

It’s already midnight as you decide to go to bed. He smiles as you head to the bathroom, a smile that’s telling you that he’s hardly able to wait for you to redeem the bet. The good night kiss in bed. About forty minutes later Dean crawls over the foot of the bed to you. You sit, leaned against the headboard, awaiting the kiss you owe him. He’s crawling over you, his hands next to your hips, on all fours.  
“You owe me a kiss,” he whispers and you feel shivers down your spine.  
“I know. Come and take it.”  
You feel his breath at your cheek, smelling his shower gel and Dean and the minty toothpaste. His hair is still a bit damp and tousled. He doesn’t answer or move, he’s just breathing like he wants to internalize your fragrance.  
His lips at your ear he mumbles: “A good night kiss in bed means: We’re both lying. You in my arms.”  
“Oh,” you whisper and your breathing gets heavier. “I see.”  
Dean withdraws and makes himself comfy in the middle of the bed, his arms opened for you. He smiles and crooks his index finger: “Come. Please. We go all warm and cuddly. One kiss and you’re free.”  
You slide nearer and he lets you come to him in your own tempo, no pressure, no force. In the second you feel the warmth of his body you settle your head on his upper arm, sighing as he pulls you even more closer, as your nose gets in contact with his collarbone.  
“Okay?”  
“Yes.” You pet his back a bit, breathing deeply.  
It’s warm, comfy and comforting lying in the dimmed light enjoying a soft embrace. That’s a place you really could get used to. Dean’s lips wander around your cheek, your temple and the corner of your mouth. You turn your head to give him full access to your lips, barely able to cushion the shivers running through your body.  
His kiss is as innocent as ever – for a few seconds. Then his tongue slips into your mouth and you forget everything over this burning hunger you immediately feel. It’s a long, tender, but also consuming kiss and in the moment he breaks it you want more.  
“Good night, babe,” he whispers, giving you space to get away from him.  
“Good night, Dean,” you answer and switch off the lights.  
Tomorrow you’re going to play about ten good night kisses. Or hundred. Damn, this guy is a real great kisser.


	5. In heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're ready to conceive, Cas, M.D., states. Great news. But a month too early.

The honeymoon LARP feels intensively real, except for the fact you hadn’t have sex so far. First: You’re not allowed to, Cas told you. Not yet. Second: You’re still concerned about the prophecy – and who would be not? – plus, third: You’re feeling used and ... yeah ... somehow abused. Especially Cas in his ivory-tower behavior and his dry and sometimes cold way to see things and coherences gives you the idea of being an incubator on two legs. Dean’s still part of this system and as hard as you’re trying to forget this you’re not as successful as you would wish to be.   
Two times a day Dean talks to his brother asking about news from the second prophet, but until now he haven’t found anything illuminating.   
It’s the late Thursday afternoon, week six, and you’re sitting with Dean on the couch, watching TV. You don’t feel good you’re exhausted and tired, having a diffuse pain in your lower abdomen from time to time. In the second you’re ready to fall asleep, your feet parked on Dean’s thighs Cas arrives out of the thin air in front of the couch.   
“Hi, Cas,” Dean greets, nodding in his direction. “Got news?”  
“No.”  
He steps nearer and you moan silently as he presses his index and middle finger on your forehead.   
“How do you feel, (Y/N)?” Cas asks, watching you with blatant interest.   
“Not as good as usual.”  
“What’s the matter?” Dean asks concerned, furrowing his brows. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“It’s nothing,” you mumble and Cas cocks his head.   
You try to sit up, feeling uncomfortable with both men watching you, Cas with nearly scientific interest, Dean with sorrow.   
“No sex today and tomorrow, especially no intercourse,” Cas says to Dean, who’s pressing you back on the couch.  
“Stay,” he demands before focusing on Cas. “Huh? We know we’re not allowed to. And you, as the greatest peeper the world has ever seen, should know that we hadn’t have sex so far.”  
Cas ignores Dean’s innuendo and states: “She’s ovulating. She’s going to conceive if you consummate today or tomorrow. And this would be too early.”  
“She’s ovulating?” Dean’s gaze wanders from your face over you breast to your lower abdomen just as he could see something interesting there.   
“Yes, she is. Aren’t you able to smell it?”  
“No, I’m not. I’m human, no fucking animal able to smell a female in heat.”  
“How does a man know when his female is ready to conceive?” Cas looks confused, so confused as ever when he’s confronted with irritating details of human living.   
“He doesn’t know for sure. Never. That’s why there are so many unplanned children. That’s why mankind invented condoms and the pill, got me?”  
Cas makes a disapproving sound and you wonder if he’s thinking that humans are a kind of faulty design.   
“Do you smell it?” Dean asks and Cas nods: “Yes. And I felt it as I touched her. She’s ovulating, absolutely certain.”  
As Dean looks you in the eyes again his expression has changed. He looks hungry and bites on his lower lip. The forbidden fruit is the sweetest.   
“Dean, no ...,” you whisper, “No.”  
He gulps and shakes his head, mumbling a sorry.   
“I’m watching. If you two ... can’t behave I have to separate you for two days,” Cas says dryly and vanishes. 

Dean breathes deeply, clenching his fists again and again. “I feel like a goddamn stallion.”   
“And I’m like an incubator on two legs.”  
He nods sympathetically and mumbles: “I’m very glad when I’m able to get rid of this big brother watching me. Or us.”   
“When you get rid of him it’s over. Then you’re back in your life and I’m still here, more prisoner than ever. A deadly bored prisoner in cellular confinement.”   
“We have to figure something out. I can’t leave you here, you’re right. Maybe Cas can settle this suite in an empty room in the bunker.”  
“Where are we now, by the way?”  
“I guess it’s an old storehouse, somewhere on an abandoned industrial area. Or any other abandoned building somewhere in the world.”  
“I see,” you mumble, closing your eyes.   
Your lower abdomen hurts again, not much, but now you know why it’s ... more uncomfortable than before. Suddenly you feel Dean’s big, warm hand on your skin, sliding under your shirt to your belly.   
“Four weeks,” you whisper and he answers: “Yeah. Only four weeks to go. Better?”  
“Yes,” you answer, not knowing if it’s the warmth of his hand or the comforting gesture that makes you nearly forget the little bit of pain you feel.   
“How do you like it?”  
“Like what?” You ask, relaxing a bit, sighing as he pulls you closer.   
Now your legs are on his thighs, and you grab a pillow for your head, making yourself comfy.   
“Sex.”   
“Uh ... mhm ... dunno.”   
“You’re no virgin you said. You already had sex, right?”  
“Right.”  
“So you should know.”   
“I ... I guess I like everything. I haven’t made a negative experience so far, Dean. I liked everything I’ve done with a man by now.”   
“Rough and fast or tender and slow?”  
“Depends on the situation. I would prefer tender and slow when it comes to making a baby.”  
“That’s what I wanted to know. No big surprise, but ... yeah ... we’re at one.”  
It’s all silent for one or two minutes then he asks, grinning: “Lights on or off?”   
“Off.”  
“Sorry to disappoint you but the lights will be on,” he smiles, “I want to see you, honey.”   
“Dimmed?” You ask, opening your eyes to watch his facial expression.   
“I’m good with dimmed, yeah.” His smile turns from cheeky into something tender, promising.   
Again, for the thousandth time, a ton of butterflies is set free in your belly.   
“Do you like sex?”  
“Very much.”  
“But you are so ... self-controlled and ... don’t know ... you’re not turned on.”  
“Says who?”   
“I. You never ever had a boner when we kiss goodnight.” You blush a bit as he grins filthy. Your kisses aren’t innocent anymore, but Dean hasn’t tried to go further so far.   
“You noticed, huh?”  
“Sorry,” you mumble and he laughs: “No need to be sorry. I’m going to tell you a secret, okay?”  
“Yeah? You’re not Reese after all, you’re the Terminator and that’s why you never have a boner?”   
“No.” Dean shakes his head, still laughing, and pets your ankles. “Why do you think I’m taking a shower twice a day?”  
“Dunno. Maybe you’re a very neatly person?”  
“I am in fact. But that’s not the main reason. I’m masturbating two times a day. I jack off every evening before I go to bed. So I never have to lay next to you with a boner and the aching need to fuck you. I’m already a bit satisfied and able to fall asleep before I’m hard again.”   
“Really? Wow. Impressive sex drive, Mr. Winchester.”   
“I like sex, I like sex very much, you know? It’s my escape from all this bullshit determining my life.”   
You nod understandingly: “For me sex is a shelter where I’m hoping to find comfort and warmth and at least an illusion of being loved.”  
“Sounds nice. May I borrow this picture in the future?”  
“For what? For the case you have to have this conversation again? How many saviors do you plan to father?” You smile and he rubs over your ankles.   
“As much as I have to, I guess. But I hope one savior is enough. Your answer sounds like you would prefer tender and slow, honey. Making love prior to being fucked senseless.”  
“No. No generalization, please. It’s also a very, very good feeling being desperately wanted. Being hot and eligible. Being able to wake the animal in him, you know? Being the only thought in his head, your pussy being the only target. Because he craves you so much he can’t think straight anymore.”  
“Uh, I know this feeling. And we need to chance the topic, I guess,” Dean mumbles, rubbing with the heel of his right hand over his crotch.   
“We’re going to have both, right?” You ask, angling your leg and petting with your foot over his growing erection.  
“Stop, please,” he says, pulling your foot away. “Not today, not tomorrow. If we don’t follow his order Cas will pull me by the scruff of my neck out of you.”  
“Like assholes do with dogs while they’re knotted?”   
“Yeah.”  
You laugh and shake your head: “Shit, my imagination runs wild now.”  
Licking your lips unconsciously you think of kneeling on the mattress, Dean’s hands on your hips, your body answering every hard thrust with a guttural moan. Again, again, again and again, until your arms weaken, you’re sweaty and tired out. You feel the sexual excitement taking over the control of your body, your mind.   
Dean grins, petting your legs: “I really like how you look whilst imaging us having doggy style sex.”  
You angle your leg, kicking him with your heel on his thigh, making him grin even more: “Feel better? I think I’ll have to take a shower.”   
“Don’t. Just change the topic and in a few minutes it’s over.”   
Dean sighs, looking agonized. “Name a topic.”  
“Hm. Do you like dogs?”  
“The rules are simple, (Y/N). You don't take a joint from a guy named Don, and there's no dogs in the car,” Dean grins and you laugh: “Okay, no dogs. Who’s Don?”   
“He sells joints.”  
“You’re kidding, right?”   
“When it comes to baby, dogs or Don: Never ever.”   
You sit up, crawling on his lap. In the moment you’re settled on his thighs he grabs your ass with one hand, with the other hand he massages your lower abdomen.  
“I don’t have cramps, Dean,” you whisper, “The pain’s gone. It’s okay.”  
His hand leaves your abdomen and is placed on your neck instead, pulling you closer for a kiss.   
“Fuck, I’m so horny,” you whisper at his lips, your arousal leaving you breathless, “These goddamn hormones killing me.”  
“Good to know,” he answers, licking over your lower lip, “It’s going to be a piece of cake to make it good for you.”  
“Maybe I can’t go slow then,” you moan and he grabs your ass tighter, moving your hips, rubbing your crotch against his own.   
“You can. I set the pace. And I’m going to enjoy every second.”   
“Stop it,” Cas voice comes out of nowhere, “Stop it or I will separate you.”   
You pull back and look him in the eyes, sighing.   
“Get up, honey. I’ll take a shower.”  
“Cas is more a bandog than my own father,” you whisper, “And I thought my father was strict. And if we go on like this you will have no skin anymore in four weeks.”   
Dean laughs and withdraws from you, heading to the shower, not even trying to hide the impressive bulge in his jeans. He’s at the bathroom door as he turns around: “Oh, I don’t think I need more than one shower a day in three or four days. I don’t think Cas refuses a little practice.”   
Oh. My. God.


	6. The thinking stops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some first-time-smut. Hope you enjoy!

The sexual tension grows with every hour – your hormones driving you wild. Dean acting as a caring husband, a perfect gentleman increases your hormone driven high more than any other man before him. You never wanted a guy so badly, what’s totally weird because you still aware of the fact that you will be pregnant in a few weeks, stay here for years, being in danger and a ton of other fucked up stuff you don’t want to think about. You’re good with all these things, more or less, as long as Dean visits you on a regular basis. You had a conversation with Cas and he said this will be no problem. He’ll bring Dean seven days a week – if Dean wants.  
You’re staring at his perfect butt while he talks to Sam in the morning of day 3 after your ovulation. You know you’re going to have sex. Very soon. Presumably after breakfast. While imagining grabbing his ass pulling him deeper into your aching pussy you pour coffee in two mugs, bringing him one. He smiles, placing a soft kiss on your forehead and takes a sip of his coffee, listening concentrated to the voice of his brother.  
“I see,” he says, “What else?”  
You take a seat at the dining table, choosing fruit salad and a croissant. Dean’s still listening, making approving or disliking sounds. You grab the newspaper and fly over the headlines until your eyes get caught by a particular headline: “Missing woman from [insert your hometown] presumably dead”.  
“What the fuck?” You whisper, thinking about if there’s another woman missing.  
After a short glance to the still telephoning Dean you read the article: “In a press conference at Wednesday afternoon chief of police Albert P. Rosenbaum reports that a group of lumberjacks found the dead body of a young woman in a wooded area, 20 miles north out of town. After the postmortem examination at the county forensic medicine institute the police act on the assumption that the victim is the already over six weeks missing (Y/N) (Y/L/N), lastly seen in “The Three Oaks”, a bar located at Pullman Drive. The cause of death is still unknown; the police officers don’t exclude a violent felony so far.”  
Dean takes a seat at the dining table, helping himself to pancakes, toast and jam: “You’re okay, honey?”  
“I’m dead,” you whisper, “How for heaven’s sake did he manage that?”  
“What?” Dean asks, frowning.  
You hand him the newspaper, pointing at the article. Dean reads, rubbing with his pointer finger over the bridge of his nose.  
“I have no idea. Cas? Did you create a kind of clone of (Y/N) and place the corpse in the woods?”  
“Yes.”  
The answer – out of nothing – is as succinct as it’s typical for Cas and you sigh.  
“I can never go back. I’m dead,” you whisper.  
“No, you aren’t. It’s the chance for a new life.”  
“My parents, my family, my friends are grieving for me while I’m sitting here having a first class breakfast and ... while I’m expected to get pregnant, to raise the savior for this godforsaken world and ... oh, shit!” You burst into tears, finally realizing what’s requested of you, which part you’re playing, a part without a chance to cancel, without an understudy or even a holiday. You’re trapped in the kingdom of heaven and ... oh, shit, Part 2. Maybe it’s actually your body. Maybe you’re actually dead and ... and you’re in heaven. “I’m alive and kicking, Dean, am I?”  
“You are,” he soothes, “It’s not you. And for your family ... Y’know, having a ... grave where they can go and talk to you in silence is ... is better than missing you for years, not knowing what happened to their beloved one. Dubiety is worse than grief. Grief declines, they’ll go on with their lives, carrying you in their hearts. Dubiety is a constant torment, full of false hopes and painful disappointments.”  
“But ... if I’m officially dead, I’m able to live normal life, right? They won’t search for me, won’t they? I can live ... in ... in ...” You think about where you wanted to live, but Dean interrupts you, shaking his head: “Crowley isn’t so easy to cheat, (Y/N). I guess meanwhile he has sent a spy to the forensic institute and the demon, possessing the coroner, can tell him that the corpse is a fake. A very good fake, one a human can’t distinguish of your real body, but still a fake.”  
“Dean’s right,” Cas voice says, “It’s just a fake to trick the police and your family and friends.”  
“Okay,” you mumble, “So much for the painful disappointments, right?”  
“I’m sorry, honey. So sorry,” Dean whispers, taking your hands in his.  
A soft kiss is placed on your temple and he’s petting the tears off your cheeks.  
“I need some alone time.”  
“Understandable. Call me if you need comfort. I’m right here.”  
You nod, heading to the bedroom. The urge to be alone with your thoughts is overwhelming and a million tears later you feel ... not better but determined to make the fucking best out of this ton of shit life gave you. Dean’s warm hand pets your shoulder and he whispers: “Brought you some water. Guess you could need some liquid.”  
He’s gone before you even find the strength to express your thanks. Turning around you see a bottle of water on the nightstand and you feel you’re really thirsty. After drinking three glasses you get up, thinking about your options. Sure, you can still say no. But maybe this means the end of the world. Not really a basis for a quiet conscience. Plan A seems to fail, no plan C in sight. So ... it’s up to you and Dean and your child. No way out. Fuck. 

 

It’s already midnight as Dean knocks at the bedroom door: “May I sleep here or shall I stay on the couch?”  
You clear your throat, leaving the churn up bed: “No, come in, Dean. You did nothing wrong, no need to sleep on the penalty bench.”  
“Thanks, honey,” he answers, entering the bedroom. “Do you feel better?”  
“No, not really. Thanks for asking, Dean. I’m back in a few minutes. Don’t wait for me,” you say, heading to the bathroom.  
But of course he’s still awake as you come in again, about 25 minutes later. He lifts the blanket in an inviting gesture.  
“Cuddle time, come on.”  
There’s no need for words, you curl up against him, absorbing his comforting warmth, his scent, fleeing in his protective embrace. Again there’s just a soft kiss on your forehead, Dean’s eyes are closed, is breath is steady and deep, his whole form exudes serenity, placability and fatalism. He’s been through so much pain and fear you feel ashamed for your whiny breakdown. He’s been in hell, in purgatory, he has lost everyone he loved, and you’re bitching around because you’re chosen to have a child with this awesome man and stay in a fucking first class hotel for a few years.  
“It’s peaceful here,” you whisper, “peaceful and safe.”  
“Mhm,” Dean approves, “It’s the right place to raise a child.”  
“He or she will be lonely, without friends.”  
Dean raises his head, giving you a thoughtful look.  
“When I come back for the first birthday party of our toddler, I’ll stay a few days, I promise. And if you want me to, I’m going to knock you up again.”  
Again tears running down your cheeks and you whisper: “Dean?”  
“I’m here, sweetheart, I got you.”  
“Can you make me stop thinking, please?”  
He turns you around, leaning over you and brings his lips on yours. The soft warmth of his mouth, the gentle scratching of his stubble is so very welcomed that you pull him closer, pressing your thigh between his legs, against his growing erection.  
“You didn’t shower,” you mumble between kisses and he chuckles: “No, I didn’t. I thought you could need distraction.”  
“And you were right.”  
Another consuming, intimate kiss, another moment sharing familiarity, trust and hopes. His hand slides under your shirt and is placed were new life comes into being soon.  
“I don’t wanna go,” he whispers, “I wanna stay, watching your belly growing, holding your hand when you give birth. And I ... oh, fuck!”  
He withdraws from you, sitting up, hiding his face in his hands. He’s breathing deeply, in and out.  
“Dean,” you place your hand on his back, a comforting gesture he intentionally leans in, “I’m here. Forever, maybe. At least for 20 years. I can’t go, I can’t be abducted or turn to another man. You may come and go as often and as long as you want. I’m here, every single time.”  
“That’s good for me and my little, lightweight dreams, but ...”  
“Shhh,” you soothe, “No more talking.”  
You pull him back, crawling over him, taking the lead. You want him so badly, the nearer the better. While sitting on his belly you kiss him tenderly, patiently one time after another, waiting for him to relax, to forget past, future and, partly, presence. His skin is smooth and way more satiny than you’ve had expected. You kiss a trail from the corner of his mouth, over his cheek, down his neck to the collar of his shirt.  
“Strip,” you whisper, “Take your shirt off.”  
You’re not able to subdue a little scream as he sits up lickety-split and pulls his shirt over his head. His arms embracing you, he takes you with him as he falls back in the pillows.  
“Milquetoast,” he mumbles, “Did I scare you?”  
“No. I just didn’t expect you moving this fast,” you smile and concentrate on kissing his collarbone.  
You take your time, exploring the upper half of his body, his arms, and his chest, placing a long kiss on his bellybutton – what turns him visible on –, lifting his arms over his head to hide your nose in his armpits, getting lost in his scent. In the moment you give his right nipple a soft bite he obviously decides that it’s his turn now. Just a second later you lay on your back, Dean leaning over you, tucking at the hem of your shirt.  
“Your turn. Strip, honey.”  
You wiggle out of your shirt, sneaking a peek at the impressive bulge in his boxers. Dean takes a deep breath, staring at your breasts. Carefully and slow he raises his right hand off the mattress, petting with his fingertips along the underside of your breasts. He squint his eyes, licking his lips and places his large hand right over your left tit. It fits.  
You prop yourself on your elbows to get a kiss, but he presses you back, his hand on your breast bone.  
“No,” Dean whispers, “My turn.”  
His fingers painting a trail over your tits, your collarbone, neck, mouth, to your eyes. He wipes with his hand over your forehead to your nose and commands: “Close your eyes. Enjoy.”  
You do as you’re told and sigh as he rolls your nipples between his fingers. He protracts them slowly, until you moan and lift your upper part of the body off the mattress, following his movement. He closes your mouth with his lips and his kiss is as soft as the grip on your tits gets stronger. Dean alternates: When his kisses are soft, the touch of his hand is firm, demanding and covetous. In the moment his kisses change to consuming, passionate and deep his touch turns into a gentle, feathery fooling. It drives you crazy. And it makes you so fucking wet. After a while he turns you around, on your belly, kneeling over you, claiming your back and your still panties-covered ass with kisses and caresses. You search at least for his knees, his legs to give him something back but he doesn’t want you to. He places your arms over your head, out of his way and slides with his hand between your body and the mattress, massaging your tits a bit, while you hear his breathing at your right ear. He goes on with exploring every square centimeter of your upper part of the body, tickling with his fingertips over your arms, your armpits down your sides, over your ribs, making you squeak and flinch.  
“Ticklish, huh?”  
“Yes, I am.”  
He adds a bit more pressure with his fingertips, trailing his way back. This time you don’t squeak or flinch.  
“Better this way?” He asks and you nod.  
“Mhm,” you mumble luxurious, “I like that.”  
“You’re already all nice and wet for me, honey?”  
Nodding again you wiggle with your ass, roaming his balls. He chuckles and tucks at the waistband of your panties.  
“Superfluous, isn’t it?”  
“Mhm-mhm.”  
“So we take this off?”  
“Yes, please, Dean.”  
Seconds later you’re naked and Dean turns you on your back again. His hand caresses your inner thighs, making you shiver in anticipation. You’re rubbing with the heel of your hand over his bulge, eliciting a groan deep out of his chest.  
“Spread your legs a bit more, babe,” he whispers, petting with the back of his hand over the sensitive skin of your vulva.  
“Dean,” you moan as he parts your lips, dipping his fingertips in your slick, slippery wetness.  
He circles around your clit, kissing your roughly. In the moment you’re lifting your hips from the mattress to meet him halfway, to increase the pressure he chuckles.  
“Open your eyes, honey. Am I doing it right?”  
You shake your head, panting a breathless “More!”  
“Show me how you need it. Take my hand and lead me.”  
“Why?”  
“I wanna learn how to please you perfectly. And that’s how I’m learning best. Learning by doing, y’know?”  
Hesitatingly you lay your hand over his finger, increasing the pressure, leading his middle finger to your clit, rubbing faster and harder than he did before. He’s quick on the uptake – not that you’ve expected anything other – and after less than two minutes your hand falls on the sheets. He already learned how you like it. Your breath gets faster and shorter and your legs tensing while your hands searching for hold in the sheets and at Dean’s thigh.  
“You close, honey?” He whispers at your ear, licking over your earlobe.  
“Dean!”  
“Yeah?”  
“Don’t stop, please!” You moan, grabbing the fabric of his boxer short.  
“No, never, (Y/N). Tell me, you close?”  
“Yes, yes! Oh, fuck, Dean!”  
You’re tensing even more and the scream coming over your lips would be able to wake every resident of your block – thank god you don’t have neighbors here. And if Cas’ is listening or watching you couldn’t care less in this memorable moment your orgasm hits you.  
Dean’s fingers barely touching you while you come down from your high. His kiss is tenderly and sweet and he gives you a soft slap on your vulva, eliciting a deep moan from you.  
“Back on earth?”  
“We’re still in heaven, Dean,” you mumble and he flicks over your clit again, making you groan.  
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m going to be in the 7th heaven in the moment I’m in you.”  
You sit up and press him on his back. Your turn now. Again. You’re tucking at the fabric of his boxer shorts and a satisfied hum comes over your lips as his cock springs free.  
Sitting beside him with crossed legs your index finger track the prominent veins along his shaft, back and forth, again and again. He moans approvingly and grabs your foot, massaging your sole absent-minded. His eyes wandering between your face and your hand on his cock back and forth. Back and forth.  
“(Y/N),” he moans and you smile.  
Sticking your tongue out you lean forward, stopping an inch over the tip of his cock.  
“Please, you little tease. Go on,” he breathes, closing his eyes in anticipation.  
Straight in front of your nose a drop of pre-cum appears on his tip and you lick it off, making him shiver. Your fist closed around his member you breathe a kiss on the glans.  
“Take me in,” Dean hisses through gritted teeth, his free hand fisting your hair.  
“Someone’s impatient,” you scoff, grinning – but you’re obeying.  
He tastes exquisite and you really like the feeling of his cock in your mouth. You’re testing his reactions a bit, using your tongue in different techniques, your teeth, your hands. His reactions are pure, somehow pristine and full of lust.  
“Stop!” Dean cups your face with his hands, pulling you away from his member, upwards to his face. “Holy shit, you’re fantastic, honey.”  
“Thank you,” you smile, kissing him deeply.  
“You’re good with me on top?” He asks, pressing you against the mattress, kneeling between your legs.  
“Oh, yeah, I am.”  
His fingers caressing your folds, flickering over your clit, circling around your entrance: “All wet for me. Wet and ready.”  
“Mhm.”  
“You sure?”  
“Dean! Do it. I can’t get pregnant, right?”  
He nods, leaning over you, supporting himself on his left arm, his right hand on his cock.  
“Say it,” he whispers. “Wanna hear you say it.”  
“Love me, please, De-oh my god!-Dean!”  
He pushes gently into you, slowly, his gaze locked with yours. Wide-eyed, your mouth slightly open you’re laying your hands on his chest – and he stops.  
“Too much, babe? Does it hurt?”  
“No, no, it’s perfect,” you whisper, “Please, Dean, move!”  
And he obliges, pushing deeper, still slow and careful. The dimmed light in the bedroom accentuate his muscles, his strength, and his trained, hard body. At the same time the light causes some vulnerable softness in every single of his moves, in every flexing of his muscles. The wonderful, pleasant stretch of your inner muscles makes you wish you could close your eyes, reducing your existence on this incredible feeling being stretched by him, being cherished, being loved. But you can’t close your eyes because you want to see him, the stern and solemn expression on his face, his eyes piercing yours relentlessly. You want to see his muscles moving in the golden-bronze light.  
“More,” you whisper, knowing you never ever will be able to have enough of this.  
He smiles, as lovingly as complacently, speeding up a bit. Supported on both arms now he leans down, kissing your neck, a soft bite, another kiss. You’re putty in his hands, you’re melting like ice and nothing ever felt so good. His left hand takes your right, leading your fingers from his chest to your vulva.  
“Touch yourself,” he pants, “I want you to cum, honey. Cum around my cock.”  
You’re rubbing your clit in the most effective way, the way that leads to a fast and hard, but short orgasm.  
“Fuck, (Y/N),” Dean moans as your walls start to clench, as you’re close to your peak.  
His hips snapping forward, in a relentless, primal rhythm, he lowers himself, skin on skin, making you spread your legs even more, giving him deeper access. Your ankles crossed over his ass, his cheek on yours you come undone, his hot and heavy breath at your ear, your moaned name as he follows you burned in your mind forever. You never heard anything so beautiful, so full of love, so longing. 

All is silent. You feel him soften, smell his sweat and lick a drop of his jaw line. He doesn’t move. Not one single inch. Heavy and warm he’s covering your whole body, protecting you, holding you. He’s your shelter. Nothing feels wrong or awkward, not even as he withdraws, sitting for a few seconds, face hidden in his hands again. You’re petting his back, again, slowly and persistently. Dean stands up, walking naked through the still opened door. You have no idea what he’s up to but you feel he’ll be back in a few seconds or minutes. Maybe he wants to clean himself up. About 30 seconds later he’s back, a bottle of water in his hands. He drinks three or four swigs of water before handing you the bottle, grinning.  
“I’m thirsty as hell,” he states and you chuckle before drinking a swig too.  
He’s standing in front of the bed, naked, in all his glorious perfection, smiling, sharing a bottle of water with you. You don’t want him to leave. No.  
“Did you enjoy the show?” Dean shouts to the ceiling and you nearly choke on the water.  
“I’m not sure,” Cas’ voice answers, “The pizza man did it the other way round.”  
Dean’s bursting in laughter, leaning against one of the bed posts, wiping tears out of his eyes. As he crawls into the bed again, lying down beside you, Cas adds: “And you didn’t slap her rear.”  
You curl up against Dean who’s still chuckling uncontrollably and ask: “The pizza man?”  
“It’s the story of an angel accidentally watching a porn channel. You really wanna hear?” He’s patting invitingly against his chest and you accept with a smile.  
“I never wanted to hear a story so badly,” you state, making yourself comfy, enjoying every second of this night.  
You wanted him to make you stop thinking. And he did, thoroughly.


	7. Maria 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ready to rumble? Fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen!

Four weeks later you’re absolutely sure Dean Winchester will break your heart. He’s definitely the love of your life. Your perfect match. You’re able to laugh with him, you’re not for one second bored, and nothing he’d said was inappropriate, awkward or wrong. The sex is fantastic, exciting, lustful, natural and easy. He gives you no room to feel shy of or ashamed for anything you do or want. He’s open-minded, open-hearted and as patient as he’s demanding. There are just two things that set him up: The lame-ass prophet and the fact that plan A didn’t work. Not a quarter as good as they had expected. Actually absolutely nothing happened as Sam and Dean performed this complicated and time-consuming ritual at the night the moon was in the eight house of Aquarius. It’s been the only night in all these weeks you were alone in the suite and Dean was as tired as he was frustrated as Cas brought him back the morning after.  
You’d felt your hope abandon but after all you’re already used to the thought of getting pregnant, of being a Maria 2.0. And now it’s about time. You feel like you’d felt the month before and Cas confirms your strong suspicion: You’re ovulating. And the angels expect you to consummate at least two, better three times today. And tomorrow again.  
After Cas has vanished you’re heading to the bedroom, leaving an unusual close-lipped Dean behind. You take a seat at the edge of the bed, feeling the burden heavy on your shoulders. You feel shy and awkward, for the first time since you have sex with Dean. What if you fail? If you can’t do it? Or if you just don’t get pregnant? Will it be your fault when millions of people die? Will Dean turn away from you?  
You don’t look up in the moment Dean enters the bedroom. Against his habit he closes the door behind him and it feels ultimate. Honeymoon is over. Now it’s time for the bitter and harsh reality. Say yes and you’re captured here for years. Say no and ...  
“(Y/N),” he says, “Look at me.”  
You shake your head, you’re not able to look him in the eyes, not yet, not with the thought in your head that you’re going to be pregnant with his baby in a few hours. His steps coming nearer and he stops right in front of you.  
“Do you still wanna do it? You can say no and I won’t touch you, never again, if you don’t want me to.”  
“Then Cas is going to come back and forces us. I’m pretty sure about this. I don’t have a choice, Dean, plan A didn’t work ...”  
“And that still rankle me.”  
“Yeah, but ... No plan A, no plan C to Z. So it has to be plan B or the world will end in a few years, right?”  
“Maybe. Prolly.”  
“So let’s do it, Dean. Let’s get it over with.”  
“No. Not this way. We’re going to enjoy this. I’ll make it good for you, I promised this, remember?”  
You give him a half smile he’s answering with a kiss on your head. He lifts you on your feet, hugging you, holding you close.  
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers, “Don’t be afraid.”  
You feel a kind of wrench in your heart – your journey with Dean will be over in a few hours. He’ll be gone and you never know when or even if he comes back.  
“No matter what happens, (Y/N), at least we’re parents. We’re united forever.”  
“Awesome,” you mumble sarcastically and he chuckles.  
“I know I’m not going to be father of the year but I’m willing to do my very best.”  
You sigh, hiding your face at his chest, trying to let go of all these negative thoughts. Dean lifts you again, carrying you bride style around the bed, laying you down on the pillows. Slowly he unclothes you, very gently and caring.  
“You’re beautiful, (Y/N),” he whispers, kneeling between your legs, leaning down to kiss you thoroughly and deep.  
As a man who’s true to his words he makes it more than good for you. He makes it perfect; he cherishes you until you believe you’re someone special, special for the world as also special for him.  
“Look at me,” he whispers from time to time, “I wanna see you.”  
He makes you forget everything outside this bed, makes you feel how much you need him, how much you are his girl. His wife.  
You’re feeling the tip of his cock at your entrance and you open your eyes. His glance is serious, his facial expression stern.  
“Do you want me in you?” He asks silently and you nod.  
Irreversible. No way back.  
“Say it. Be persuading.”  
“Please, Dean, I need you in me. Love me.” For a wonder your voice works quite perfectly. You lift your hips to meet him and he groans. “Please, Dean.”  
“Want me to shoot my load in your pussy, honey?”  
“Yes, Dean, please.”  
“You sure? You’re going to be pregnant.”  
“I’m sure. Yes, I’m sure. I want to carry your child. Are you ready to do this?”  
“I am. Waited my whole life for this.”  
He smiles and slides slowly into you, filling you out in this perfect way he always does. Dean loves you, there’s not even a hint of fucking, of something dirty. It feels grand and holy, every single thrust is tender and loving, every touch of his hand careful and gentle. 

 

In the moment his orgasm hits him Dean presses himself balls deep into you, pumping his semen with a low groan directly in front of your cervix. Again, as he did so often before, he covers your body completely with his. He doesn’t pull back; Dean loves to stay in your warmth as long as it’s possible. And with the thought of knocking you up he more than ever stays where he belongs.  
“You good?” He asks and you’re nodding a bit, fighting the tears in your eyes.  
Goddamn hormones, goddamn fear.  
“Wanna have some water?”  
“I want to go in the bathroom to clean me up.” You whisper, wiping a single tear off your cheek.  
Dean props his weight on his elbows, breathing deeply and shakes his head: “Sorry.”  
You don’t ask for the deeper meaning of his “sorry”. Sorry, this is not allowed? Or: Sorry for spilling my load deep in you, sorry for making you feel uncomfortable?  
“I know. It’s okay. My head screams no, but my heart and my hormones are absolutely positive about your semen in my belly,” you whisper and he kisses a tear off your cheek.  
“Do you want me to do anything special? Shall I bring something to eat? Water? I’ll do whatever you want, I want you to be relaxed, happy and cherished.”  
“No, nothing. Lie down, hold me. That’s all.”  
You’re finally fatalistic. Whatever will be, will be. 

It’s early on the next morning, the most silent hour of the day as he loves you for the fourth time. Slowly, gently and sweet. You open up for him, completely, body and soul, it’s pure devotion you feel. He whispers a hoarse “I love you” in the moment he pumps his load in you and you answer a breathless: “I love you too.”  
30 minutes later you’re lying in his arms, his softened penis pressed against your ass, his heartbeat at your back and you suddenly feel it. You feel every single drop of his semen, hot and heavy in your belly. Your uterus is well-supplied with blood, all is warm and tingly. You’ve never felt anything similar before. You breathe deeply, concentrating on the sensations in your womb.  
“You good?” Dean asks at your ear, petting your upper arm.  
“Yeah. We made it, Dean. I’m pregnant. I feel it. It’s hot and tingly and I feel every single drop of your semen, heavy and warm.”  
Immediately he places his hand on your lower belly, and his body tenses as Cas suddenly stands in front of the bed, placing his fingers without a warning on your forehead.  
“She’s pregnant. You can go now, Dean.”  
“What? Are you off your rocker, Cas?”  
“Why? Mission completed, you can go back to Sam.”  
“Cas, hit the road, got me? Leave us alone, let us sleep. I’ll call you when I want to go. I’ll stay here for a few days longer to make sure (Y/N)’s okay.”  
Without any other word Cas vanishes and Dean sighs.  
“Congratulations, sweetheart,” he whispers at your ear, kissing your cheek.  
“Thank you. I don’t know what to feel right now, I’m ... confused.”  
“Did you enjoy it?”  
“What? Getting knocked up?” You ask and you feel him nodding, feel him kissing your shoulder.  
“Yes.”  
“Yeah, very much. One of the best experiences I’ve ever had. Dean?”  
“Hm?”  
“Did you mean it?” Your fingers intertwine with his and he asks: “Mean, what?”  
“You said you love me in the moment you knocked me up.”  
“At the day I learned about the prophecy,” Dean reports silently, “I thought that this would be for once a really easy way to save the world. But I was wrong. It’s actually as torturing as every trick we tried before. I didn’t expect to fall in love, to father a child and have to leave you alone. So, yeah, it’s true. It wasn’t Cas made me say it if you might think this. It came deep from my heart. I love you. And I’m deeply grateful for having a baby with you.”  
“Thank you, Dean. For being honest.”  
Your body’s exhausted and with the heavy, unfamiliar warmth in your belly you fall asleep. 

“Hey, sleepy head,” Dean’s low voice whispers at your ear and he pets with the back of his hand over your belly. “Aren’t you hungry or thirsty?”  
“What time is it?”  
“Nearly time for dinner. You’ve slept the whole day, babe.”  
“Dean ... I don’t feel your ...”  
“Everything’s alright, Cas M.D. says. No need to worry. He was here half an hour ago. You’re pregnant and you’ll stay pregnant.”  
You get up, heading to the bathroom, taking a shower and brushing your teeth. You’re pregnant. The first step is done.  
Obviously Dean ordered breakfast for you and you feel you’re hungry like a wolf.  
“Where’s the coffee?” You ask and Dean gives you a sweet little smile.  
“You’re pregnant, honey. No coffee for a mother-to-be. And no alcohol, of course. We’re going to drink milk or tea or some juice. What do you prefer?”  
“No coffee?”  
“No coffee.”  
“Oh fuck! Why didn’t you tell me in advance?” You mutter frustrated.  
He gives a shrug and places a kiss on your forehead: “What about hot chocolate?”  
You nod, sighing deeply.  
While you’re eating and drinking a hot chocolate, Dean tells you from the conversation he had with Sam in the morning. The prophet is nearly ready and although now it’s too late Sam wants to hear his opinion anyway.  
“What does Cas M.D. said about sex? Are we allowed to have sex?” You ask as Dean’s finished, feeling the urge to find oblivion in Dean’s arms – and the urge to enjoy this man as long as you’re able to.  
“I can do whatever I want, I’m a free man,“ Dean grins, “And if I want to have sex with the mother of my child I’m going to have sex with the mother of my child.”  
“This easy?”  
“Yeah. We’ll go slowly, no wild ride or breakneck acrobatics.”  
“How long will you stay?”  
“Dunno. Sam’s good and I don’t feel the need to end our honeymoon.”  
“You don’t have to stay, Dean, or have sex with me.”  
“I know. But I want. Both.”  
If you thought you’ve been deeply in love with him now know you were wrong. Now you are deeply in love with him.


	8. A stable in Bethlehem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're pregnant and make two new acquaintances. In addition: Honeymoon 2.0.

The night you conceived was five days ago and Dean is still caring, tender and steadfast at your side. Cas does a kind of ward round twice a day and is very satisfied with what he sees and feels in and on your body. Dean didn’t say a word about leaving so far.  
If Cas would show up with a priest collar you would marry the father of your child without hesitation. Although you know him less than three months.  
It’s day 6 now and you wake up to the muffled sounds of Dean talking, he’s telephoning with Sam you guess. You leave the bed, heading to the bathroom and stop in the moment you see Dean’s facial expression. It’s pure shock. In the second he notices your presence he clears his throat, changing to a more neutral facial expression.  
“G’morning,” he whispers, holding the phone at his chest.  
“Morning,” you answer, “Is everything alright?”  
“Uhm ... take a shower, okay? We’ll talk later.”  
You nod and know: Now it’s over. Dean is going to leave.  
“What about Cas?” Dean asks his brother and you close the bathroom door behind you.  
Dillydallying is normally not your thing but today you don’t feel the need to leave the bathroom to soon. You don’t want to hear apologies and promises. So you spend nearly an hour sitting on the toilet lid, staring at the wall and crying silent tears. Goddamn hormones! You take a shower, brush your teeth and leave the bathroom with tear-stained eyes. Dean’s sitting at the breakfast table, nervous and impatient, he's not able to sit still, his fingers drumming on the wood. Walking directly to your seat you avoid a kiss – Dean’s obviously not in the mood for some tender good morning kisses. This is maybe a part of him you didn’t know so far. Thrill of the chase, maybe.  
You help yourself to toast, butter and honey, pouring milk in a cup and grabbing the coffee pot before Dean is able to react. You pour a little sip of coffee in your milk and Dean raises one eyebrow but stays silent.  
“You have to go?”  
He nods and breathes deeply. “I’ve got good news and a bad one.”  
“Bad for whom?”  
“Maybe for you. Or for us both. I don’t know. I don’t know which one of the news is the good and which one the bad. Maybe they’re both bad.”  
“Or both good.”  
“Nah.”  
You sigh, eating in silence for a few minutes, feeling Dean’s gaze on your face, your body.  
“Feeling good this morning?” He asks, taking a sip of coffee.  
“Yes, thank you. So, what’s the matter?”  
“The prophet is finally ready with ... with this shit.”  
“Oh. What did he say?”  
Dean rubs with his hand over his face, breathing deeply once more: “He said there’s a fucking grammar error.”  
“A grammar error?”  
“Yeah. That’s why it took him so long to translate this fucking prophecy.”  
“I don’t get it, Dean, I’m sorry. Which consequences does this grammar error have?”  
“No consequences.”  
“No consequences, okay. And why you are so upset?”  
“The door,” Dean points at the two-winged door, “is now open. We can go.”  
“We? This means, I too? Why?”  
“A prophecy doesn’t have grammar errors. Never. Means: This fucking prophecy, the useless plan A ritual, all this was a great fake. You’re not Maria 2.0. I guess that’s the good news.”  
Your mouth’s gaping wide open and you need a few seconds to sort the new information.  
“So, I’m not pregnant with the new savior?”  
“No. But you’re pregnant. Beyond doubt. Plus: You’re officially declared dead. And that’s the bad news. Maybe.”  
“Oh shit”, you mumble, “Oh, shit!”  
“I’m sorry. It was a nearly perfect fake, I guess. The first prophet didn’t even notice the grammar error. The second one worked more thoroughly.”  
“That’s why plan A didn’t have the tiniest effect on anything, right?”  
“Right.” Dean nods, pointing at your plate. “You’re ready? Sam’s on the way, giving us a lift.”  
“But ...”  
“Please, (Y/N), can we talk about ... us ... later? I need a good 800 mile drive home to ... sort things out, okay?”  
“Where we are?” You ask and Dean chuckles a bit: “Bethlehem, Mississippi.”  
“Bethlehem? Really?”  
“That’s Cas.”  
You get up, walking towards the door and Dean follows you. In the moment your hand touches the door knob he holds you back, turns you around.  
“Wait,” he whispers, “Lemme go first. And I want a kiss.”  
His lips touching yours and he withdraw way too soon, after a short and innocent kiss. He opens the door, pulling a gun out the waistband of his jeans – wherever this thing might have been hidden in the last weeks – and steps out of the suite. You follow him and find yourself in a cowshed.  
“A stable in Bethlehem. Cas, you little piece of shit!” Dean mumbles and you look over your shoulder to the door you came through.  
You open the door again, finding a dirty, empty spider paradise behind it, not even 10 square meters. No kingdom of heaven. The suite has vanished. Dean makes his way to the exit, step by step, checking the surrounding carefully. He takes a look outside before leaving the stable, pulling you with him. The morning sun shines on your face and you take a deep breath. You’ve missed the sun and you’re glad to see it again.  
Out of nothing a man stands in front of you both, another angel you guess, but Dean immediately covers you with his body, lifting his gun.  
“Dean. What a pleasure to meet you. Haven’t heard anything from you for a few weeks. You were busy, I guess?”  
“Shut up.”  
“And this is the beautiful and fascinating (Y/N), am I right?”  
“Shut. Up.” Dean hisses, making a step back pushing you backwards.  
“I’m Crowley. You may have heard of me. It’s my pleasure to meet you.”  
“The king of hell?” You ask, feeling a ton of fear rushing through your blood.  
“Exactly. In person.”  
“What do you want, Crowley?”  
“First of all I want to congratulate myself for being this awesome. And I wanted to make sure that everything clicks like clockwork, just as I planned it.”  
“So, this was your idea?”  
“Of course, Winchester. It took me months the fake the prophecy, to create a useless ritual, and to find (Y/N). Your perfect match. I had to make sure you two fall in love, to make sure she gives you permission to knock her up. And it worked. I should think about a side job as a marriage broker”, Crowley chuckles and makes a self-satisfied face.  
“Why?” Dean asks, scanning the environment.  
“Oh, I needed you to be off screen for a couple of weeks. It worked. As a bonus I have two new players in our little game. If you behave like a good boy, Dean, neither your wife nor your child will be in danger. If you keep crossing my paths, it costs me a snap with my fingers to kidnap them. Or kill them. They’re perfect blackmail material.”  
Crowley grins and Dean makes a horrible sound of anger.  
“Oh, no need to applaud me. I know you’re taking your hat off to me, when you fully understand how brilliant my plan was. See you soon, honeymooners,” Crowley takes a bow and vanishes into thin air. 

A silent half an hour later you hear a car coming nearer and Dean smiles.  
“It’s baby,” he states and takes your hand in his, kissing your temple. “Tomorrow we’ll be home.”  
“So, I’m coming with you?” You ask and he gives you an astounded glance.  
“Of course. Or don’t you want to come with me? You’re free; you can go wherever you want.”  
“Uhm ...”  
“For now. Just for a few days. To get things sorted out. To get to know the ... the options. Okay?”  
You nod and Dean’s baby, the Impala he talked of, parks a few steps away. A really big man gets out of the driver’s seat and Dean introduces you: “This is my brother Sam. Sam, meet (Y/N).”  
“Hi, Sam,” you smile and he smiles back: “Hi. I’ve heard a lot of good stuff of you.”  
“Really?” You flash Dean a glance and he winks, grabbing the keys from Sam and opens the door for you.  
“Hop in. We need to find a tattoo shop.”  
“A tattoo shop? Why?” You ask, making yourself comfy on the back seat.  
“You need the tattoo.” Dean’s patting on left side of his chest, where the anti-possession sign is tattooed.  
“The one you have?”  
“Yes.”  
“Fatalism. Fatalism. Fatalism”, you murmur. “Whatever will be, will be.”  
Sam smiles over his shoulder: “It isn’t too bad. A small one will do.” 

Three hours later you’re tattooed and on the road again. The journey to Lebanon, Kansas, is long and Dean decides to stay for the night in a motel in Springfield, Missouri.  
“Dean?” You ask as he closes the door to your room behind him, after a dinner in a little restaurant and a drink (only water for you) with Sam at a bar.  
“Hm?” Dean takes his flannel off and opens his belt.  
“Can we please buy a few clothes for me tomorrow? I ... I don’t have any clothes. Or money.”  
Shit. In the moment you pronounce it you fully understand how depending you are on Dean. At least at the moment.  
“Oh. Sorry. Of course. We’ll go shopping tomorrow. I ... sorry.”  
Dean opens the travel bag Sam brought for him and hands you one of his shirts: “For the night, if you want.”  
“Thank you.”  
You take the shirt, heading to the bathroom and change into the shirt Dean gave you. You don’t even have a toothbrush, damn it!  
“I’m back in ten minutes!” You hear Dean shouting and the door slams shut.  
You’re sitting on the bed, waiting for him and you have to smile as he enters the room again, a paper bag in his arm.  
“Toothbrush, hairbrush, shower gel, shampoo, body lotion, lady shaver. I have no idea what make up you wear or what deodorant or perfume you use normally so I didn’t buy anything. I guess it’s better you buy this by yourself tomorrow.”  
“Plus: I don’t need make up or perfume tonight, right?”  
“Right.”  
He grins and you step nearer. “May I give you a hug, Dean?”  
“Are you really questioning this?” He opens his arms and you pull him close, resting your head at his shoulder.  
“Thank you so much, Dean,” you whisper, “For caring.”  
“Bullshit! I’m a dork, sitting bored in a tattoo shop while I could have bought your stuff in the meantime.”  
“We both didn’t think about ... this trivial trifle.”  
“Yeah. Go, get ready for bed, honey”, Dean smiles, “Sam and I scheduled breakfast for 6:30 a.m. We need some sleep.”  
“6:30 a.m.? And no coffee for me?” You sigh, turning around, heading to the bathroom. “This is going to be a hard morning.”  
Dean makes a pitiful face and isn’t able to hide his grin completely: “Yeah, maybe. Speaking of hard things, honey ... Do you want me to take a shower when you’re ready in there?”  
“A shower? Oh ... a shower!” You laugh and shake your head, “No, don’t take a shower.”  
He grins and you close the bathroom door. He still wants sex. Obviously. Because he really likes you? Because he takes advantage of the situation? Or because ... you don’t want to think about it, but you ... you owe him a tattoo and by now some cosmetic products. Tomorrow your bill also contains a few new clothes. 

“Dean,” you say as he leaves the bathroom about 40 minutes later, “I’m going to pay every cent back, okay?”  
“Huh?” He slips under the blanket and pulls you closer.  
“I’ll pay every cent back, I promise. The tattoo, the cosmetics, the motel room and the clothes we’re going to buy tomorrow. I’ll get a job and live on my own. I don’t want you to pay alimony or something. I don’t want to take advantage ... and ...”  
“Hey! Stop it! I know you don’t want to bleed me white, okay? All this shit wasn’t even your idea, right? You need clothes, you need a place to live, you need a toothbrush – that’s fine. As long as you don’t want me to buy you some fucking jewelry we don’t need to talk about it. You owe me nothing. Okay?”  
“Okay. Thank you.”  
“Stop thanking me permanently. We’re good, aren’t we?”  
“We are.”  
His hand slides on your belly, up to your tits, his touch makes you shiver in anticipation – your libido grows with every day you’re with him, multiplying every time he touches you.  
“Is this honeymoon 2.0?” You ask with a smile and kiss a trail from his chin to his collarbone.  
“Honeymoon in a cheap motel in Springfield, Missouri? Sounds like something I’m totally good with.”  
“Hey, guess what?”  
“Tell me, sweetheart.”  
“We’d lived together for ten weeks alone in a suite. And I don’t feel the need to sign the divorce papers.”  
“Crowley should work as a marriage broker, indeed. He did a really good job finding you.” Dean chuckles and pulls your panties down.  
“Dean ...”  
“Shhh,” he hushes you, “We quit the talking for tonight. I’m terribly under-kissed.”  
You give in and enjoy the honeymoon 2.0, thankful about the fact your baby wasn’t fathered in a squeaky, worn motel bed, to the sound of your room neighbor snoring like a whole military base full of soldiers with a cold. And you’re thankful Dean doesn’t drop you like a hot potato.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist! Yay! I'm kind of an asshole, right? Poor reader! Or is this more a first prize?


	9. Shameless smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have some kitchen table sex. Just for fun.

Six weeks later – you’ve found a job at a publishing company, working as a secretary for one of the lectors – you’re drinking a cup of peppermint tea in the bunker’s kitchen. Dean and you get along great so far and Sam is on the best way to be one of the best friends you have ever had.   
Dean enters the kitchen, wearing a black sweatpants and a grey hoodie, strolling to the coffee maker to help himself to a cup of coffee. You suddenly feel a little bit sick as you’re getting aware of the smell of the coffee, but after the blink of an eye it’s over.   
“G’Morning,” you smile, “Did I wake you up?”  
You’d left Dean’s – your – room on tiptoes but he’s a light sleeper. He slept pretty well in the relative safety of the suite but now, back in everyday life, he sleeps light and not as long as in your “honeymoon”.  
“Hm.”  
“Sorry, Dean.”  
“No prob, sweetheart.” He clears his throat and waves his hand dismissively, “Last night, while you were sleeping like a log, I did an internet research.”  
You’re terribly tired and exhausted every evening, but that’s pretty normal for the early stage of a pregnancy and you hope this phase will be over soon. Nonetheless you miss his touch, you miss his touch and the feeling of intimacy and endearment. You would love to have some sex as your body can’t have enough of him, not even whilst you’re pregnant with his baby. He’s like a very strong magnet.   
“Porn research or real research?” You grin – just a few days before Sam told you about Dean’s guilty pleasure for porn, particularly cartoon porn.  
Dean doesn’t even smile a bit. He furrows his brows and gives you a thoughtful look.   
“Mr. Ruben. Your boss.”  
“He did porn movies?” You mock him, drinking the last sip of your tea.   
“Don’t hope so. I’ve read his CV and found a few photos. He’s single. And he’s kinda handsome, isn’t he?”  
You wait with your answer until Dean drank a mouthful of coffee and takes a seat at the table.   
“I dunno.”  
“What? Are you blind now, (Y/N)?”  
“No. Just not interested.”   
“Is he interested in getting to know you better?” Dean asks and you lean down to kiss him, shifting his cup of coffee out of the sphere where you can smell it.   
“No, he isn’t.”  
“Hm. What are you doing with my coffee?”  
“I can’t stand the smell anymore.”  
“Uh, sorry, honey. Did you tell him you’re pregnant?”  
“No, I didn’t Dean. I want to keep the job until I give birth or he gives me the bum’s rush because of my then highly visible pregnancy.”   
Dean pulls you on his lap, his hand gliding under your skirt, caressing your thigh. His kiss is as demanding as it is tender and you kiss him back as he withdraws. You’re hungry for him, your hormone-driven high didn’t end so far – but the damn exhaustion in the evenings lets you fall asleep before Dean is at least naked. And as the gentleman he is he doesn’t wake you up once you’ve drifted off.   
“He’s a goddamn idiot if he kicks you out,” Dean murmurs on your lips, his right hand destroying your hairdo with pleasure. “Got time for a quickie?” He asks breathlessly, unbuttoning your blouse.   
The bulge in his sweatpants grows and he rises, lifting you up and placing your butt on the edge of the kitchen table.   
“Even enough time for a not so quick quickie. Dean”, you murmur, placing a soft bite at his neck, making him growl, “what about Sam?”  
“Sam left for a 10 mile run while you were in the shower, babe.”   
With his hand on your sternum he presses you flat on the table, putting his coffee mug out of the way with his other hand. Your legs clinging around his hips and he pulls your bra down, baring your tits, your itching, aching nipples. His lips closing around the left one and he starts to suck – nothing ever felt so good, so lightened. He’s not as tender as you’re used to, he’s claiming, possessive and rough. But you need it this way, especially your tits aching for a tough, satisfying treatment. A tender touch couldn’t bring the enormous relief you’re feeling right now. You tuck at his sweatpants, massaging his already throbbing cock for a few seconds while his right hand works through the fabric of your panties on your clit, small circles and the exactly perfect amount of pressure.   
“BJ?” You ask, fisting his hair with your free hand and he shakes his head.   
“No. Want your pussy. Wanna be in you. Now, please.”  
“Okay,” you give him permission, impatiently pushing the crotch of your panties aside and leading him to your entrance.   
“Fuck!” He swears and slides smoothly in you – you’re wet as a water plant.   
The first few thrusts are slow and careful and you press your heels in his ass cheeks, wanting more, demanding more.   
“Faster, please, Dean, need more!”  
“Won’t last long this way,” he pants, speeding up.   
“Please, Dean, need you, please!” You moan pulling him closer rubbing your sensitive nipples over the fabric of the hoodie he’s still wearing.  
His right thumb is pressed on your clit and circles fast and relentlessly over the bundle of nerves. He has you on the edge in a few seconds and you start begging, your back arching, legs tensing, pulling him deeper in you, making him nearly unable to move. His thrusts are short, fast and hard, he’s pounding you on the table and you hold your breath as the orgasm hits you. Breathtaking, in the truest sense of the word. You would scream, normally, at the strength of this pleasure, but you can’t. A smothered groan is all what comes over your lips.   
“Breathe, honey,” you hear Dean’s hoarse whisper at your ear.   
You do, eyes closed, wondering why Dean doesn’t move. You feel like you’ve been spaced out completely.   
“Go on, please, I’m good.” You whisper and he chuckles: “I’m done, sweetheart.”  
“Oh,” you answer silently, opening your eyes, smiling as you see the laugh lines crinkle around his eyes. “I didn’t notice. God, that was great. Awesome. Thank you.”  
“My pleasure,” he sighs, leaving you with a grin, eliciting a deep moan from you.   
How much you dislike the feeling when he’s pulling out – there’s no word in your vocabulary for this aching emptiness and the condition of longing he sends you in with just a little move. He rests his head on your chest, his breathe whiffing over you right nipple. You’re massaging his neck, enjoying the post-orgasmic relaxation.  
“Dean?”  
“Hm?”  
“Mr. Ruben …”  
“Zip it, please. My cock left your pussy less than twenty seconds ago, that is kind of a mistiming for some talking about other men, honey.”  
“He’s openly gay.”  
“Huh?”  
“Mr. Ruben is gay, Dean. No need for jealousy.”  
He lifts his eyebrows in surprise and grins, nuzzling his cheek to your tit: “Oh, good.”  
“Get up, Dean, please. I have to hurry up if I don’t want to lose my job because of tardiness.”   
“I’ll give you a lift.” Dean rises with a big sigh, pulling his pants upwards.   
“Thanks. What are your plans today?” You ask, hopping from the tabletop and rearranging the bun on the back of your head.   
“I’m going to find a way to take revenge on Crowley and …”  
“Wait! What?”  
“I want …”  
“No. You shouldn’t do this, Dean. It’s …”  
Dean interrupts you with a kiss, flattening your skirt after bringing your panties back in place.   
“I’ll do what I have to do. That’s my job. I have to do some research about Crowley’s plans, about the things he’d started while I was off screen.”   
“Things have changed, Dean.”  
He shakes his head, making a painful face: “Things never change. Something happens and I feel responsible, y’know? I was on a holiday, seducing and fucking a beautiful girl for weeks while Crowley planned something really bad, only up to it because I was too busy with …”  
“… with saving the goddamn world, Dean. You didn’t take a holiday. You thought it was really necessary to do what you did to me.”  
“What I did to you. Yeah. That’s sounds as horrible as it is. Too disgusting to say it aloud, right?”  
“No, it isn’t. I’m sorry, I …. I’m still insecure and desperate, confused and somehow betrayed. I don’t have an idea what the future holds for me.”  
“I see. Yeah, I get that,” Dean says, still sounding pissed, “We should go. If you don’t wanna come back just tell me.”  
“Dean, please. It wasn’t and it isn’t horrible. You were actually really sweet and lovely. I don’t wanna go, okay? Can we please talk later?”  
“Later? When you’re lying in our bed, sleeping like a log again?”   
It’s not that you are a prone to tears but these goddamn hormones making you cry in glorious regularity. Without a word Dean pulls you in his arms, hugging you, holding you close, murmuring an apology. He holds you for several minutes, waiting patiently until the sobbing stops.   
“I’m a dork,” he whispers, “We both have a hard time I guess.”   
“You? Why?”  
“I’m afraid you could leave me and I’ll never get to know my child. And I’m afraid you could stay and live in permanent danger.”   
“I’m in danger if I leave you. I’ll stay as long as you want me to stay.”  
“Promise?”  
“Yes. It’s a promise.”


	10. A five-months-belly

As the weeks go by you get to know Dean better. He’s as complicated as he’s simple but you’re having a kind of keen sense of him so you go along great. You subordinate, you find a place in his life, in his everyday routine, where you can live comfortably. His vagaries don’t bother you and you know how to distract him, to relax him. He’s still sweet and lovely when it comes to you and him, but he clearly makes the rules, sets the pace. You’re good with this, maybe due to the circumstances, maybe because you need this. He’s your bridge over troubled water, your anchor in the storm. You found the shelter you’ve searched for years.  
With every centimeter your belly is growing he gets more nervous, more worried – and more turned on. Dean Winchester definitively has a thing for pregnant women you guess. Whenever he’s near you is hands searching your belly, caressing the slight bulge. Whenever you’re alone with him he shows you how much he appreciates the state of your growing boobs too.  
“That’s crazy,” he whispers one night, his left hand closed about your tit.  
“What?” You ask, smiling.  
“You’re already knocked up. It’s my child you’re carrying, without any doubt. And my body still wants to make sure you’re getting pregnant. I can’t stop wanting you.”  
“Don’t say you make plans for knocking me up again in the moment our first one is born.” You sigh, covering his hand with yours.  
“Not exactly in this moment, but ...,” he chuckles, “Yeah. You’re so fucking beautiful, I love seeing you pregnant. I could get used to this. Plus: You’re horny as fuck. It’s like you would still ovulating.”  
“That’s the Neanderthal animal in you, Dean.”  
“You’re not an inch better, honey.” Dean grins and presses his pelvis against your ass, rubbing his cock at your skin.  
After more than six months in his company and sharing a bed you feel that he’s holding back, that he wants more, that he’s shown you just a fraction of his desires and needs. There’s more, hidden under the facade of this perfectly gentle and patient lover he shows you.  
“At the time our baby is born, Dean, when I’m not pregnant anymore and back to normal hormone routine again, we can ...,” you clear your throat, searching for the right words, “we can do more.”  
The grip at your tit tightens and he breathes deeply: “We can, yeah.”  
“You want more, don’t you?” You ask, holding your breath while waiting for his answer.  
“Yes. Much more. Everything. That’s an argument for waiting with Baby No. 2 that can’t be ignored.”  
You’re hiding your smile in the pillow, feeling happy and arrived home. Dean’s hand leaves your tit, spreading your lips from behind, testing your wetness.  
“You’re still hot and wet, babe.”  
“And you’ve got a hard-on again.”  
Dean turns you around, kissing your forehead, pressing his hard member between your legs, against your clit. Grinding on his cock, making him even harder and your pussy even wetter you sigh, pulling him in for a kiss. Dean rolls on his back, without breaking the contact of your lips, placing you on his belly.  
“Ride me,” he whispers, kissing you again while his left hand is searching for the light switch, “Wanna see my knocked up girl piled on my cock.”  
With a click the room’s lightened up, a warm and only small light caressing your body. You give him a smile, placing his tip at your entrance. His hip bucks against you but you lift yourself up again.  
“You little tease,” Dean murmurs, gripping your hip, holding you still. “You’ll pay for teasing me, babe.”  
“Can hardly wait for payday, Dean.” Your voice sounds breathless and you take him in, settling down on his cock. “Oooh ... Dean ... aaaah ...”  
“Hold still,” he commands, “Wanna admire you. Your round five-months-belly and your gorgeous tits. Fuck, honey, you're so damn beautiful like this.”  
Dean props himself up, first on his elbows, then on his hands, taking your nipple between his teeth. He sucks at your nipple, his six-pack pressed against your slight bulge. Your hands enclosing his face and you watch him sucking your tit, enjoying the sensations he causes.  
“Move. A bit.” Another command, through gritted teeth, with your nipple still in his mouth.  
You do, slowly and careful, feeling every inch of him rubbing against your inner walls. He caresses your belly, your tits, kissing the upper part of your body wherever he can reach. As you move faster he falls back in the pillows, watching you closely, memorizing the look of you riding him. His thumb flickers over your clit, eliciting a few moans of you.  
“Baby ..., please!” You beg as he withdraws his fingers, grabbing your hips to lead you.  
“Shit!” Dean hisses and you feel and see at his facial expression that he comes undone.  
You moan feeling his cock is twitching in you, trying to keep watching him – he’s so fucking beautiful when his orgasm hits him, every single time again.  
“Sorry,” he whispers, lifting you off his cock, guiding you over his face. “Remember me to wait longer for round 2, next time. I’m embarrassingly fast done when ... oh, fuck ...”  
You close his mouth and cut his needless apology with your pussy on his mouth. Holding on the headboard you scream as he pushes three fingers at once into you, licking around his fingers, surely tasting the mixture of your juices and his semen. His tongue finds your clit immediately and he fucks you slowly but with the right amount of pressure, crooking his fingers to hit your g-spot. You can’t see his face because of your belly and close your eyes, falling into the pleasure he sends you in. You don’t last long too and your walls starts clenching, you’re getting bumpy and Dean grips your hip with his free hand.  
“Hold still!” He murmurs and the vibrations of his words making you shiver.  
In the second he sucks your clit between his lips you’re reaching your peak, your body shaking and moaning a hoarse groan, followed by a scream as he doesn’t stop, as he sends you in a second orgasm not even waiting for your first to fade away.  
“Dean!” You scream, grabbing his hair, pulling on him, pressing your pussy on his mouth.  
His fingers tapping on your g-spot and he elicits the third peak from you, so hard and fast you scream uncontrollably. It’s too much, way too much, but he still doesn’t stop. You fight to get away from him but he doesn’t let you go.  
“One more,” he growls, “Only one more, honey!”  
The fourth orgasm makes you collapse on his body, you fall backwards on his thighs and he removes his fingers out of your pussy.  
“This was only a foretaste, babe,” he grins and you shake your head.  
“A foretaste?” You ask breathlessly, coming slowly down to earth.  
“Right. Only a foretaste.”  
“Of what?”  
“A foretaste of what I’m doing with you before I knock you up a second time.”  
“Oh, my god, Dean!” You laugh, lifting your head to see his big, self-satisfied grin, “I will beg for getting knocked up again five minutes after the little one is born.”  
Dean laughs and helps you to lie down next to him, to curl up against him.  
“Do you already feel it kicking?”  
“No, Dean. Of course not!” You answer, clicking disfavoring with your tongue.  
“Of course not? Is it too early to feel it?” Dean asks, rubbing the small of your back gently.  
“First: A little too early, yes. Second: Don’t you think I would have told you? In the second I’m aware that I’m able to feel our baby?”  
“Yeah, maybe. Dunno, honey. I’ve never been in this situation.”  
“So am I.”  
“Do you still feel ... betrayed and insecure?” He asks quietly and you sigh: “Sometimes. But with every day the pleasant anticipation grows. I’m excited and hopeful.”  
“Not afraid anymore?”  
“A little bit. Sometimes of Crowley and all the other ... mhm ... beings ... you have to cope with. Sometimes of being a mother.”  
“You’ll do great so far and I guess you will be a perfect mother. There’s just one thing. For the future. You have to learn this and our children too.”  
“And that’s what?” You ask lifting your head off his chest to take a look at his face.  
Is he going to make a joke or is he serious?  
“When I say: Stay – you’ll stay. When I say: Run – you’ll run. When I say: Close the door behind you and don’t come out, no matter what you hear – you’ll do exactly this. Got me? There’s no time for discussion or for being bitchy or huffy. I say, you do what you’re told. Immediately.”  
“We’re in great danger, aren’t we?”  
“Not yet. But sometimes ... maybe.”  
“Shall I ask?” You whisper, resting your head on his chest again.  
“No. Don’t ask. Don’t worry. It’s just ... you know ... a test alarm. You’ve got to know what to do when it comes to the worst case.”  
“And that is exactly what you’re saying.”  
“Right. Did you understand?”  
“Of course, Dean.” You sigh, placing a kiss on his bare chest.  
“I’ll have to check, I guess.”  
You hear the grin in his voice und raise your brows: “Aha?”  
“Mhm. On your back, babe, spread your legs.”  
“That’s the oddest test alarm I’ve ever heard of,” you chuckle, rolling on your back.  
“Beep – wrong answer.” He crawls over you, kneeling between your spread legs.  
“Hm?”  
“What did I say you’ve got to do?”  
“No discussion, no bitching.”  
“And what did you do?”  
“This wasn’t bitching or discussing,” you protest laughing and Dean shakes his head in disapproval.  
“You’re still discussing. What do I have to do to get you all silent and nice?”  
“Kiss me, Dean. Your kisses make me ...”  
He cuts you mid-sentence with his lips on yours and all you’re able to articulate for the next hour are some moans, groans and a few cushioned screams.


	11. Verbally romantic, a try.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally give birth. And re-unite a few weeks after with the sex thing. If I were you, I hadn't wait this long, really.

“Close your eyes,” Dean whispers and you obey, fighting for air whilst the labor-pains rushing through your body, possessing you and every thought in your head.  
“Breathe, yeah. Right. Breathe. That’s good.”  
His voice is calm and steady and you feel his fingers intertwining with yours. His other hand caresses your hair, his lips on your forehead.  
“Aaaaaah!” You scream, tears running down your cheek.  
“You’re doing great, honey. So good. It’ll be over soon.”  
“Why can’t Cas just ... conjuring the baby out of my belly, huh?”  
“Because ...” Dean starts to explain but you cut him off: “Or take the fucking pain from me?”  
“You need the pain to ...” Sam’s voice says from the door frame.  
“Oh, shut up! Whose idea was it to give birth here in this godforsaken bunker?”  
“Your idea, baby. I voted for a hospital but you said Maria didn’t even have a midwife and ...”  
“DEAN! Stop talking!”  
“Sorry, love.”  
The next contraction baffles a retort and you press Dean’s hand so hard he gnashes with his teeth. But he doesn’t complain.  
He starts encouraging you, tells some stories to distract you. And then, in the moment you think you’re going to die, he whispers near your ear: “When our little one is old enough to stay a weekend with Sammy I’ll ask Cas for the key to the kingdom of heaven. We’ll have a suite with a pool table, a really big bath tub and a four-poster bed. What view from the windows do you want, honey?”  
“Dean, I can’t stand it any longer, I really can’t. I’m going to ... to die in here.”  
“Shhh. You don’t die, baby. It’s just the exhaustion. That’s normal. Everything’s alright, (Y/N). I’ll coddle you the whole weekend, anticipating your every wish. All for you.”  
“If you think about knocking me up again, I’m going to feed you with your balls right now. That will be the last thing ....aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!”  
The labor-pain lasts about 60 seconds and you breathe heavily, wiping your tears away: “... I’ll do before dying, I swear!”  
“Annalise will be here in five minutes,” Sam says from the door and adds: “I’ll wait outside for her.”  
“Whose Annalise?” You pant, pressing your right hand on your belly.  
“The midwife. Sam called her.”  
“Thank you, Dean,” you whisper, feeling a little bit of hope. 

Two hours later your head fall back in the pillows, tears of exhaustion and joy streaming down your face and Annalise places a little bundle of joy on your chest.  
“Look at her,” Dean whispers, “She’s so beautiful. She looks exactly like you.”  
His pointer finger pets her little fist and you hear the door closing. Annalise and Sam are giving you a few minutes alone time.  
You’re not able to take a look, you’re too busy with crying.  
“Shhh,” Dean soothes, “You’re okay. We’re okay.”  
“Dean, I’m so glad she isn’t the savior of this godforsaken world,” you whisper while trying to open your eyes.  
“Mhm. Me too. I don’t think I would have allowed her to save the world or die trying.”  
“So. What’s her name, Dean? Did you finally make a decision after seeing her live and in color?”  
You’ve never talked much about the name of your baby because Dean always said, he wants to see her first. What if I choose Melinda and then she’s clearly and without doubt Alicia? You had rolled your eyes until you got headache but Dean didn’t want to talk about the name anymore.  
“Diana,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “Goddess of hunt, the moon and childbirth.”  
“How profound,” you scoff and give him a smile. “You remember the moon belongs to Crowley?”  
“Pfff”, Dean shakes his head, “Don’t talk about him. Not now.”  
“Dean?”  
“Thank you.”  
“For what?”  
“For Diana. For our baby.”  
“So, you’re good with Diana?”  
“Yes, I am.”  
A knock at the door tells you your family time is over for now. You give him a smile and close your eyes, let Annalise do her work while Sam gets to meet his niece. 

 

The first weeks included some hard nights but Dean – used to work at night – stayed up with you whenever Diana refuses to sleep.  
“That’s your fault,” you sigh on a late Monday evening, watching Dean carrying his crying and displeased daughter through your bedroom.  
“Why?” He asks, frowning. “I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”  
“The goddess of the moon, remember?” You smile, “She’s howling to her possession, disappointed about Crowley claiming her fucking satellite.”  
Dean laughs and tickles Diana’s feet: “No. But it’s my fault, you’re right.”  
“Really? Why?” You ask, surprise on your face.  
“Yeah, I guess she noticed that I had a certain plan for tonight.”  
“Which plan?” You gesture that Dean should hand her over, while you lift your shirt with your other hand.  
The silence in the moment Diana’s mouth docks at your nipple feels wonderful and recreative.  
“Exactly this, honey.”  
“Oh …,” you sigh, feeling you blush a bit.  
Dean slips under the blanket and starts caressing your thigh: “Please, baby. Childbed is over, I’ve heard Annalise saying that everything’s alright. That we may have sex again.”  
“Did you overhear my very private conversation with my midwife, Dean?”  
“Not on purpose. I’m sorry.”  
You take a look at Diana, her hooded eyes.  
“What do you want to do?”  
“Start with some cuddling and kissing. Touching you everywhere. Making you come a few times. Fucking you senseless. Collapsing on your body and falling asleep while I’m still in you. Only the usual, babe, nothing extraordinary.” He smiles his gorgeous smile and his finger slips under your panties.  
“Dean! I’m breastfeeding our baby!”  
He grins and withdraws his finger, licking it, tasting you – although you know there’s not much to taste. You’re not wet. He doesn’t touch you until you’re absolutely sure Diana sleeps. Carefully you place her in the middle of the bed, giving Dean a thoughtful look.  
“We’ll need a condom.”  
“Lucky girl, I’ve bought a pack,” he grins, leaning in for a kiss.  
“I don’t know if I can let go when my baby sleeps next to me.”  
“Shall I bring her to Sammy?” Dean asks, pointing at the door.  
“No! She’s our baby, Dean, we don’t pack her off to Sam just for having sex.”  
“So we don’t have sex until she’s sleeping in her own room? Or until she’s moved out?”  
“No, of course not. Dean, this is hard for me, don’t scoff me, okay?”  
“Come here. We start with some cuddling and see wherever it leads.”  
You nod and curl up against him, enjoying his kisses, feeling the weariness disappear.  
“We’ll turn off the light, honey, and I’m taking you from behind. Spoons. It’s slow and she won’t wake up.”  
“Taking me?”  
“Yes.”  
“I like that.”  
“I know, honey. So, do we have a plan?”  
“We have a plan. Are you mad at me when I fall asleep while you … take me?” You whisper, caressing his length through his boxers.  
“Oh, yeah. Really mad.” He grins and reaches for the light switch.  
“Great. You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad at me.”  
“But I don’t go slow and careful when I’m mad at you, honey. And for our first time after the birth I planned something very slow and very caring and very romantic.”  
“Slow – check. Caring – check. But romantic? You failed impressively. Speaking of taking me from behind is so far from romantic like Kansas from the moon.”  
“Verbally romantic. Wait until I’m in you. I’ve written a few headwords and learned them.”  
You laugh and give him a push: “Does Cas prompting you?”  
“No. If he would I would do you doggy style and slap your rear.”  
“Mhm, maybe next time.”  
“Absolutely sure next time, honey.”  
“You’re priceless, Dean Winchester. I love you.”  
“Love you too, babe.”  
You feel his smile on your skin and give in. 

“Does it feel different?” You ask in the moment he’s completely in you.  
“No. It feels fantastic as ever. Except for the frickin’ condom.”  
“You’ll get used to them. In a few months I’m on the pill again.”  
“Hmpff. Does it feel different for you, honey?” He asks silently as he starts moving, very slow and careful.  
“A little bit, but it’s still perfect.”  
“Close your eyes, (Y/N). Just feel,” he whispers, caressing your belly, right there where the stretch marks remain on the hard work your body had done in the last few months.  
“Does this verbally romantic thing start now?”  
“Only if you shut your mouth and let me take you like the good girl you are.”  
You laugh and intertwine your fingers with his.  
“I’ve missed this so much,” you whisper and he places a kiss on your neck: “Me too.”


	12. Kingdom of heaven, again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No. 2. Dean is thrilled.

All is silent and peaceful and you take a deep breath before you open one eye to have a look to the big window. The sun starts rising over the pacific, the first shafts of sunlight caressing your leg which is hanging out of the big four-poster-bed. You feel Dean’s warmth at your left; he’s still sleeping, enjoying the safety of the kingdom of heaven. You’re still at the bunker, Sam and Diana just two doors away. But Cas made a door to your personal heaven with Dean. No one’s able to come in, to disturb your togetherness. You sigh and turn around, facing the window and the sun.  
You flinch as Dean touches your belly.  
“Why you’re not sleeping, babe?” He whispers, pulling you closer to him, spreading the blankets over your body.  
“The ocean and the sun woke me up.”  
“Go back to sleep, it’s 4 a. m. Too early to get up.”  
“Dean?” You whisper after nearly a minute watching the sun and the waves.  
“Mhm?” He’s not really awake, his eyes are closed and he breathes deeply.  
It’s more a growl than an answer.  
“It was around 4 a. m. when you fathered Diana. Do you remember?”  
“’Course, honey.”  
“Would you like to do it again?”  
“Making love to you at 4 a. m. or fathering another child?” Dean asks, sounding a little bit more awake.  
“Maybe both?” You whisper, intertwining your fingers with his.  
“Yes. To both. Wanna try right now?”  
“No trying, Dean. I’m ovulating, I feel it. It’ll work, I’m sure. I feel like …” You pause, searching for words.  
“Like what?” Dean mumbles, kissing your shoulder, his free hand caressing your yet empty belly.  
“I’m craving.”  
“Craving what?”  
“Your semen in my belly. I want you so badly, Dean, I want to be pregnant again.”  
“Really?” Dean sounds surprised as you were a little bit reserved concerning a second child.  
“Yeah. I ... I dunno. It’s hit-and-run-style, I know, but ... fuck, Dean, these goddamn hormones making me so horny and so ... so longing.”  
“Cas?” Dean asks, “Did you do this?”  
But there’s no answer. Cas isn’t there.  
“I don’t think it’s Cas. It’s a way more profound feeling than ... shark week. It’s deep from the heart, really.”  
Dean breathes deeply, four or five times: “I’ll go the bathroom.”  
“Why?”  
“Using the toilet? Taking a shower, brushing my teeth?”  
“Dean, if you don’t want to have me pregnant again, go back to sleep and I won’t never ever talk about it. I’m sorry.”  
“And after I’m ready in there you’ll do the same. And if you then still want me to knock you up, I’ll do it. With pleasure.”  
“Dean ..,” You sigh but he’s already on his way to the bathroom. 

45 minutes later you place your head on his chest, smelling his shower gel, feeling his warmth on your nearly naked body, wrapped in a towel.  
“Still want it?” Dean asks and you nod: “More than ever.”  
“Want me to make your belly round again? Yes? Really sure? There’s no way back when I’ve shoot my load.”  
“I know. I want it. Knock me up, Dean. Father a baby boy with blonde hair and green eyes.”  
“Or another baby girl, sweetheart.” Dean grins and gives you a soft push.  
“Yeah. Or another baby girl. Please.”  
Dean turns you around, towering over you, his green eyes piercing yours.  
“You’re mine,” he whispers, “all mine.”  
You nod, sighing as he starts petting your thigh.  
“Can’t wait to see this perfectly round belly again. I want to see this every year, over and over again.”  
“Dean,” you whisper, “You’ve got a serious pregnancy kink, ya know?”  
“Yeah. I know.”  
He takes his time just as back then, he’s gentle, slow and careful, but this time his whispering is way more filthier. You know each other and this time you need no encouragement.  
“Beg me”, he whispers at your ear before pushing into you.  
“Please, Dean, love me, please.” You pant, breathless after your umphiest orgasm. “Love me, please, please, Dean!”  
“What do you want me to do?”  
“Knock me up, Dean, please. Impregnate me. Make my belly rounding and my tits growing.”  
You can’t hold a little scream down as he stretches your inner walls, you’re clinging on his arms, closing your legs behind his back.  
“Look at me,” he demands, “Watch me making you a mum again, honey.”  
He starts moving and you have to fight to keep your eyes open, to watch his stern, concentrated expression, the specific look in his face he always have when he fucks you, when he’s in charge.  
“Don’t close your eyes,” he mumbles and flicks with his pointer finger over your clit, making you shiver.  
It’s maybe one of the biggest reliefs you’ve ever felt in your life as his orgasm hits him. You feel him shoot his load deep in your belly and it’s so very welcomed, so craved you nearly cry. As ever, he doesn’t leave you. He presses himself as deep as possible in you, covering your body with his. His kisses are gently and soft, his words too.  
It doesn’t last 15 minutes this time and you feel it. Warm, tingly, hot, exciting. You’ve missed this feeling and you cry two or three little tears because you’re so happy to have it again.  
“We made it,” Dean states calmly, “Am I right?”  
“Yes, we made it. You’re a father of two.”  
“I’m very happy. But ...”  
“Yes?”  
You close your eyes. You know, it’s not a real “but”, no need to be afraid or to feel uncomfortable.  
“Do you mind if we father our next few children not in the middle of the night? What about 4 p. m. for the next one, honey?”  
You laugh and shake your head: “A tradition is a tradition and you don’t botch up with traditions.”  
Dean sighs and whispers a hoarse: “I love you. You both.”


End file.
